


call me daffodil

by tobylove (orphan_account)



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Ohhh boy, Rewrite, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tobylove
Summary: Richie has a hard time falling in love with people...Until flowers start to grow across the street.





	1. coke bottles

**Author's Note:**

> heya guys! it’s toby again!
> 
> IT chapter 2 came out and it was a m a z i n g so i thought to commemorate, i would revamp the first fic i ever wrote for this fandom (now deleted sadly), don’t call me daffodil! 
> 
> y’see, i was imagining our losers to look like their 90s miniseries actors in dcmd. but now i’m imagining their ch. 2 actors. anyway... enough rambling. i just thought this would be something cute and fun! hope you guys enjoy! ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m back ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> and i am *claps* determined to finish a fic!

A Thousand Tattoos lay wedged in between a coffee shop and a bookstore. And—if you were to ask Richie—it was the best damn tattoo parlor in the world.

He remembers when he first bought the place. And he remembers renovating. Johnathan (who goes by Viper) and Rudolph (who goes by Rudy) stayed up for two days and nights with him, fixing up the place. And of course, to help, they were the obvious choice. As an adult, he doesn’t have many friends—well, not any he can fully rely on, anyway. He hasn’t had too many good friends in his whole life.

But that’s not true, is it?

(who am I forgetting?)

So it’s the three of them, wedged in between the two shops, and all is good. The coffee shop and bookstore are always bickering, so they effectively make ATT a third wheel. But other than that, Richie is happy to say that everything has run without a hitch.

Until that shop pops up across the street.

Yeah, at first, he thinks it’s going to be a turf war. His shop is the only tattoo parlor in this part of downtown, and he would _really_ hate to start treating another business owner like competition. But apparently, upon further investigation... it appears that he was _completely_ off the mark.

Dolls + Daffodils.

It’s a flower shop.

Viper is the first person to bring it up into conversation. He slinks behind Richie, smiles, rests his tattooed hands and arms on his shoulders.

“I wonder who the fuck _they_ are,” he said, all smile in his voice. He was amused.

“Ain’t no tellin’,” Richie replies, and he shrugs.

Viper lets out a little scoff. “Would you believe it. A flower shop on this side of town? A fucking _flower shop,_ Rich. What’d you bet on this one? Sink or swim?”

And when Richie looks up at him (which he instantly regrets because he’s almost blinded by the brightness of Viper’s green ass hair), he says: “Mm, they could swim.” And he means it.

A couple of days go by, and Dolls + Daffodils (which he and Viper have been affectionately calling D&D) starts looking brighter and more alive. There are folks outside working, putting up signage and flowers and decorations. That’s when Rudy brings it up.

“You know,” he starts, folding his (also heavily tattooed) arms over his chest, “I never noticed there was someone across the street from us now.”

Richie can’t help but to snicker. “Seriously? They’ve been setting up for like, three days, dude.”

“I know, I know.” Rudy grins back and puts his hands up in surrender. “I just, I dunno... never looked over there. That lot’s been vacant for so long that I just kinda got used to it.”

“Yeah, same here. But you know _what_?” He puts his hands on his knees for extra effect. “At least we don’t have to ask those bickering dickheads for anything anymore!” 

“Yeah, hopefully,” Rudy smiles, laughs a little.

It takes about a full week for Dolls + Daffodils (I’m sorry, _D&D_) to get fully moved into their lot across the street. It’s pretty and bright, with a hand-painted sign of their name in cursive and striking flowers displayed in the window. Richie has to admit that he’s pretty impressed. Whatever guy or gal that owns that shop not only is effective in their time management, but also put their heart and soul into their business. Just like he does. The place is so cozy and aesthetically appealing.

“I give them a month,” Viper is saying, “two months, tops, before they go outta business. Ain’t nobody coming to this side of town just to buy some damn flowers.”

Rudy cuts his eyes at him. “You never know, Johnathan. _Christ_, you’re so negative.”

“How is that negative?”

“How is it _not? _You never believe in _anybody_.”

“That ain’t true,” Viper scoffs back, and he _actually_ sounds a touch offended. He snakes his arms over onto Richie’s shoulders, then Rudy’s, pulls them all in close together. “I believe in you, me, and Rich.”

“That doesn’t count,” Rudy mumbles… but he blushes anyway.

“_I dunnooooo, _Johnny... maybe Moody Rudy has a point,” Richie says, grins as he takes in Viper’s exaggerated betrayal. He shimmies out of Viper’s grip just so he can grab both of his friends’ hands. “Maybe we should believe in them, y’know? Like I said, they _may_ swim. People love flowers. But I mean, to _your_ defense, it’s not looking good for our heroes. I mean, shit, they moved into… _The Haunted Lot!_”

Rudy bursts out into laughter. “Give me a fucking break. Do you guys still believe in that bullshit? The lot’s not haunted.”

“Then how come every single shop that moves over there goes out of business in, like, under a year?” Viper asks, raising his bright eyebrows that match his hair. _“Huh?”_

“That shit’s not real, Viper,” Rudy says, completely deadpanned.

“How do _you_ know? Have you ever _been_ anywhere that’s haunted?”

Richie snickers. “Ladies, ladies—”

“No—whatever, I’m not having this conversation with you. So, moving on.” Rudy suddenly smiles and his eyes light up. “You know what we should do? We should go over and meet our new neighbors.”

“Hey, good idea!” Richie chirps, matching Rudy’s enthusiasm—even though he can see Viper’s eyeroll out of the corner of his eye. “We can’t just go over there empty-handed, though. Can one of you guys go get those bottles of Coke out the fridge?”

“I thought _we_ were gonna drink those Cokes,” Viper all but whines... but he obliges anyway.

With the drinks in tow, the three of them lock up the shop and make their way across the street. As soon as they walk across the crosswalk, they’re directly in front of the doors of D&D. Something suddenly makes Richie nervous, a feeling uncharacteristic to him; a feeling that he hasn’t truly felt in a long time. He hasn’t felt like, _truly_ nervous since he was... what, fourteen?

(and what was I even nervous _about_?)

Rudy is about to open the door to the shop, but Richie pressing his face up to the glass makes him reconsider. Richie mainly just wants to look in and be nosy, see what they’re up against before they fully commit to anything. He sees a few girls, all smiling and chattering about with each other, finishing up a couple of final vases for display. And 

(yo there’s a dude in there)

(he’s _cute_)

he’s not sure, but looking in the shop makes him nervous again—there’s something about it that makes him nostalgic

_(who am I forgetting?) _

and very weird. Even though everyone in the flower shop are coworkers, it looks like they’re talking and laughing like 

_(holy shit!)_

(the loser’s club!) 

old friends. 

“You guys can go in without me,” Richie says to his friends. “I forgot something at the shop; I’ll be back in a jiff.” And even though Viper moans and groans and complains that he wasn’t going with them... Rudy grabs his hand and lightly swings the door open, finally heading into D&D. 

(I can’t go in there)

There’s something about that damn shop that feels like there’s an invisible barrier at the door, that’s almost repelling him. He feels that same, sick and annoying nervousness as he walks back across the crosswalk. That weird nostalgia... that weird nostalgia makes him remember that he _did_ have good friends, once upon a time. Ben and Bev and Mike and Stan the Man and Big Bill and... 

and even though he was right in front of the doors of his parlor, he looks back to the flower shop and squints his eyes 

_(and Eddie!)_

(holy shit, _is that Eddie?_)

one last time. Unlocks his parlor and scurries into the doors. He doesn’t even realize, until he sits down, that he’s dripping with sweat—soaking wet, like he got caught in the rain. 

He feels so damn _weird_.

* * *

“So, how were the neighbors?” Richie spins around in his chair. He was feeling much better after a couple hours of cooling down, no nervousness at all. Until Viper and Rudy came back to their side of the street, he’d almost forgot all about it.

Rudy perks up. “They were really nice!” In his hand he was holding a shock of bright blue flowers. Viper had some, too, but a different flower entirely... even though he didn’t look nearly as thrilled. 

“I thought you said you were coming back,” Viper mumbles, and Richie and Rudy decide to leave him be and let sleeping dogs lie.

“They gave these to us,” Rudy continues. “Said that they could add a little color to the shop. They’re all such nice girls. Mr. K is, too.”

(wait, mr. k?) 

(what was Eddie’s last name?) 

[He couldn’t remember.]

The sun had long set, and Richie had watched his friends walk to their cars. He locks up the shop after they leave, then decides to light up before he gets in his own car and makes the drive home. He decides to take one last glance over across the street, why the hell not... and they’re still there, locking up as well. The girls are chattering again, and now Richie can hear their light and lilting voices from where he’s standing. 

“Great first day, you guys. Let’s all get here a little early tomorrow so we can work out a routine. How does seven sound?”

7 AM? _Yeesh. _What’s he trying to do,_ kill them?_

But all of the girls agree, and smile and nod at the guy that Richie saw in there before. He must be their boss. His back is turned to Richie, but even from the back, he can make out the knit stitches in his cardigan. The boss claps his hands together, and Richie can even hear the smile on his voice... it’s cute. 

“Cool! Well, I’ll see you guys in the morning. Be safe on the way home.”

All the girls yell in unison: “Okay, Mr. K! You too!”

He can see the guy’s side view now; he watches his girls get into their cars and drive away... and then he checks to make sure he locked the door at least three times. Then he turns his head and looks across the street, right at Richie. 

(that can’t be him)

And... holy shit, he’s _really_ cute. Way cuter than just the glance Richie could only get of him before. He’s a brunet, and his hair looks really clean and soft. His shirt is tucked in, and the legs of his jeans are cuffed. He’s even wearing little Oxford shoes. And that navy blue cardigan. Everything about him looks very clean and orderly, and controlled.

(it just _can’t_ be) 

He squints his eyes at him, gives him a look that Richie can’t quite read (but it looks like a _“you look familiar, do I _know_ you?”_)... but then gives him a friendly little smile and wave. 

And something as simple and innocent as that seems to throw Richie so off kilter—he almost forgets what the hell to do when somebody waves at you. He stares a little more, frozen in place, almost frozen in time—frozen in time back to when he was... what? 

_(fourteen)_

(holy shit)

(_that’s_ what I was nervous about) 

But he finally gains his composure; gives the guy across the street 

(him) 

a weak smile

(it’s _always_ been him)

and a wave back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viper: (Richard you lying bitch)


	2. something else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i love FLUFF 
> 
> oh yeah, idk if i mentioned, but i’m trying to keep all the original chapter names from dcmd, even tho this fic may be longer! i’ll just play it by ear :-)

Viper, too, was completely off the mark.

People really _would_ come all the way to their side of town just to buy some flowers.

D&D’s shelf life wasn’t just a mere month, not even two. By the fourth month of them being in the shopping center, they only seemed to prosper with no hint of slowing down...

And every single day of those four months did Richie look across the street—listening to those young girls chatter, looking at that guy. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but that guy seemed so _familiar_. He had his suspicions, but how could he really be sure? And—maybe he was just imagining it—but he would catch that guy looking back at him from across the street, giving him that look that he gave the first couple of days D&D was there. Trying to sort him out, almost trying to remember him.

It was so weird. Richie just wanted to know the truth. If it really was

(Eddie)

But he still couldn’t bring himself to go over there.

What was the Loser’s Club like, anyway? Well, he remembers their names—but who were they as people? And why can’t he remember? He remembers that he looked up to Bill like a big brother (but they argued a lot, didn’t they?). Bev was the only girl. Was she blonde or red-headed? And Ben. He was Haystack! And Mike was black, right? And super sweet. Wasn’t he chubby—it is he getting him confused with someone else?

Oh, Stan the Man. Stan was his best friend. He can see him the clearest, he thinks. He wore those stuffy ass shirts all the time and he had curly hair. And he was a hard-ass. But he was always there for him; they were always there for each other. He gets so warm thinking about that... he remembers; Stan is the first friend he ever made

(who does he remind me of?).

And Eddie. Didn’t he have a stupid name for him? Shit, he had _a lot_ of stupid names for him. Eddie is fuzzy in his head. He can make out brunet hair and freckles and not much else.

But he had a crush on Eddie.

That’s what he can remember with the most conviction.

It’s starting to get really cold outside before his friends bring up the subject again. People are bringing out the scarves, and you can start to see your breath in the air. He thought that D&D would slow down in the winter—and he’s surprised (and feels kind of stupid) when he realizes that there are flowers that you can grow in the cold.

But nevermind that. He’s trying to remember the Loser’s Club.

He has an ingenious way of doing it, too: talking to whoever will listen.

[like _that’s_ new]

He takes pride in the fact that he loves his clients—and any love that he gives to them, they give back tenfold. So they love hearing about his life. So, anytime they can hear about Richie Tozier’s Elusive Childhood, they’ll take it!

It helps them both. The Loser’s Club are getting more cemented in his head, and his clients get to learn more about him. He’s in the middle of a client, rambling on about the one time him and Stan set their clubhouse on fire (they had a _clubhouse!_ Ben made it!), when his no-good friends have to come and ruin the fun.

It’s Rudy, who is sitting in a chair, with his stuffy-ass clothes and curly hair, who says something

_(holy shit!)_

(he reminds me of Rudy!).

He folds his arms over his chest, even makes a show of crossing his legs, and says: “Hey, Rich. After you’re done with that client... I need to talk to you.”

“Almost done, honey,” He chirps—and really, he thinks nothing of it. He finishes up the artwork, the client pays, him and the client talk with all their theatrics... and then he walks over to Rudy and sits in an empty chair.

“Aww, am I in trouble? Really, it should wait until you’re—”

“I don’t have an appointment until 2.”

He clicks his teeth. “_Oooo_kay then. Well, wassup?”

Rudy looks over to him... almost sympathetically. It’s almost as if he’s expecting Richie to be hiding something from him or something, or like he’s making an attempt to spare his feelings. He says: “What is your _issue_?”

Richie cocks his head to the side. “Whatchu talmbout, Willis?”

“You _know_ what I’m talking about.” Rudy motions to the air all around them with his hands. “_This_. You’re acting so _weird_ lately. Like, you come here, look wistfully across the damn street, like you’ve never seen some fucking chocolate or some flowers before. Then, you talk your all clients’ ears off telling them childhood stories that I’ve never heard a day in my fucking _life_. Like, c’mon! John and I have been your friends since we were nineteen! How come _we’ve_ never heard these stories?”

“How do you know John has never—”

“Because he’s the one who brought it up, Richie.”

“Huh.”

“So how come we’ve never heard them before?”

Richie falters. “Uh... it’s because I didn’t remember.”

Rudy actually looks pretty hurt—but he tries to play it off with a scoff. “Are you _serious_ right now?”

“No, yeah, I am—swear to God!” He puts his hands up in a form of surrender. He looks in Rudy’s eyes for anymore of that stinging hurt... but his honesty seems to placate him. Rudy takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and then asks_ ‘the last question, I swear’_; the hard hitting one.

“Do you know Mr. K? Is _that_ what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” he says on impulse—then, follows up with: “and I dunno if I know him or not. He kinda looks like, uh,”

(the crush I never got over)

“Somebody that I used to know.”

“Okay, Gotye. What was their name?”

“Eddie,” Richie answers honestly—and he doesn’t know, even saying his name out loud makes him concrete, makes him real... and he feels the blush spring up along his face.

Rudy furrows his eyebrows. “Did his last name start with a K?”

“Uh, geez Rick, I dunno... I _think_?”

“Ah. Well, Mr. K’s name is Eddie. I’m asking because I was wondering if it could be the same Eddie. But there’s only one way to find out.”

And Rudy sticks his hand out and grabs Richie’s wrist with it—and he’s come to learn over the years that: when Rudy wants you to do something (for your own good), it’d be best to just go along with it and not to put up too much of a fight.

* * *

D&D is already getting into the festive spirit. It’s barely October, but they already have all their decorations up—some cute little plastic bats here, some cute little plastic spiderwebs there. Rudy had marched them all the way across the street until the orange and black effects were in crystal focus. But even standing outside of the doors, Richie still can’t bring his feet to move. He stays frozen in place.

Rudy looks back at him, one of his hands already halfway holding open the door. “Well?”

Richie shakes his head. “Rudolph... really, I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I dunno. I just… I just _can’t_, okay? Maybe I should go back to the shop.”

But Rudy won’t let him—he keeps his eyes glued on him; keeps his hand halfway opening the door. And then he asks a question that, again, throws Richie off-kilter, that he was _definitely_ trying to avoid.

He laughs. He says, “Richie, are you _nervous_?”

“_No!_ Fine-fine-fine, I’ll go in there,” he mumbles—Richie has always equated nervousness and embarrassment to be the worst things. And now Rudy was questioning his whole identity as A Man! 

…Or something.

Whatever. He just needed to go in there now, even if it were difficult.

So, he lets Rudy grab his wrist with his free hand, lets him fully open up the door to the shop… and they step in.

The first thing that he notices is that it smells _really_ good in here. He thought that the smell was going to be overwhelming—but it’s just faint enough to be pleasant without being overpowering. There are flowers lining everywhere. He figured that’d be as much. They’re on shelves, all over the walls; there’s one singular potted one on the front desk. He sees the chattering girls that aren’t so chatty right now, in since they’re so engrossed in helping customers and making new arrangements. They’re all nice in person, and really pretty—pretty, young girls who all look about the age that him the boys were when they all became friends.

And then there’s _him_.

He’s in a cardigan, but not the navy blue one—this one is a bright shock of red

(red is my favorite color)

that matches the accents of his clothes. He’s at the front desk, and he seems to be doing payroll or paperwork or something else important. But when he glances up from his work and sees Rudy standing there, his eyes light up.

“Rudolph! Hi!”

“Hi, Mr. K!”

(geez, give _me_ some of that enthusiasm, would ya Rudy)

Mr. K, as he’s called, stands up from his desk, pushes his chair in, and walks to the front of it where Richie and Rudy are standing. Before Richie can say anything, Rudy is already giving one of his famous explanations on why he has another person with him:

“I just came by to say hi. We’re not too busy right now—well, John is, anyway—but I thought it’d be a good time for you to meet our boss. Well, he’s also our best friend. But still our boss.”

Mr. K looks at Richie, giving him that same look, that ghost of recognition, not taking his eyes off him as he talks. “It’s so nice to finally meet him. I thought maybe he was just a little shy.”

And it’s amazing—looking at him so up close, there’s brunet hair and freckles and a little crinkle at the nose and a five o’clock shadow. It’s so amazing 

(that he looks exactly like—)

“Richie?”

He sees him light up when he says his name—his eyes glow with warmth and fondness and that concrete recognition... and _hope_. Hope that it actually is him. Hope that it’s not someone else and he’s mistaken. 

“Eddie? Holy shit! _Eddie Spaghetti!_” 

And Richie just can’t help it—all the thoughts he buried deep inside as a teenager come to the surface, with reckless abandon... so he pulls Eddie into a hug 

(he smells like rosewater). 

And maybe he’s imagining it, but Eddie squeezes him a little tighter, buries his head into his chest and stays there... he wants him to stay there 

(forever).

But then Eddie pops his head back up and separates the two of them, and he’s smirking now. “I knew it,” he says. “I _knew_ it!” Then, he turns to the girls (who he already has their full, undivided, amused, attention). “Shelbie! Nat! Valencia! It _is_ him!”

Richie smirks back. “Damn. You’ve been telling people about us? At least take me out to dinner first. Like I did your mom.” 

“Pfft. I see you haven’t fuckin’ changed at all.” It’s teasing... but then Eddie gets softer, reaches up and cups Richie’s hands with his face and smiles. “Not a damn bit. It really _is_ you.”

(god, my _chest_) 

He smiles that soft, warm (pretty) smile, and pulls him into a hug again. 

“So, _what about_ that dinner?” Richie asks, all the smile in his voice. 

“You hugged me first, asshole.”

Maybe he _is_ an asshole—he certainly is a jackass, because he hugs Eddie even tighter and sways them a little from side to side. He almost feels like they’re the only two in the room... until he hears Rudy clears his throat and it makes the both of them jump. Rudy is smiling.

“So you guys _do_ know each other?”

Richie chuckles 

[a little _nervously_?].

“Yeah, he was like, one of my best friends when we were kids—”

“Did y’all date or what?”

_“No!”_ Richie all but yells.

“Oh my god, no,” Eddie rushes out. 

But it seems like Rudy doesn’t believe them—he smirks and gives Richie little knowing glances, until the time they walk back over to their side of the street. 

He thinks about that encounter for the rest of the day. He’s not as chatty with his clients as he’s been in the past months—all his mind can conjure up is thoughts of Eddie. His still prominent freckles, his pretty brown eyes, his red and blue cardigans. And if he were a romantic man, he would imagine that Eddie wore red today just for him.

That’s it. The memories of Eddie are becoming less foggy now. He has asthma (or did he grow out of that?), he loved wearing shorts everywhere because he ran track, his favorite color was yellow. He had freckles everywhere and a beauty mark on his chin. He was spunky when he needed to be, sweet when he _wanted_ to be, had a mom he was trying to run away from and he wanted to run to New York. He had an accent now, didn’t he? 

(he made it there) 

And _goddamn it,_ he remembers that he didn’t just have a little crush on Eddie. It was more than that. He was— it was 

<strike> ([in] love love love) </strike>

Something else. 

At least now when he looks across the street now, he doesn’t have to look with such confusion. He still looks every night—and Eddie will always be outside, watching his girls get in their cars safely before he locks up his shop... and he’ll look back. And thank god, it’s not a look of _do I know you? _anymore. It’s a look of_ goodnight, ya fuckin’ prick_ _,_ with a little smirk and a wave. And when Richie waves back, he realizes that 

(I’m still stuck on you)

All of the feelings he had in high school are firmly cemented again in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rudy, talking to Viper: and they were eye-fucking each other—


	3. stop that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you really just missed the chance to blurt out ily huh
> 
> like one of those romcons? heinous

October seemed to zip by in a breeze—and before he knew it, Halloween had come and knocked on the door. Richie used to _love_ Halloween as a kid. Now, not so much—stories about it make good material in his improv classes, but that’s as far as his liking goes.

So he’s surprised when he looks across the street and sees everybody at D&D—including Eddie—dressed up for the occasion.

He’s _not_ surprised at Viper and Rudy. They dress up every year (Rudy always goes out of his way to be something different. Viper is a snake every year. How original). So when Rudy blocks his view with his gaudy diamonds and studs... he squints, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“Pffft, holy _shit_. What are you this year, Elton John?”

“Yeah, actually,” Rudy says, smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. “And what are _you? _Lovesick?”

He squints his eyes more. “Whatchu mean?”

“Richie, you’re still using up all your free time to stare at D&D. And I _assume_ at Mr. K. Why don’t, instead of ogling, you... I dunno, go _talk_ _to_ _him_?”

(because that’d the _smart_ thing to do, Rudy)

“Pshhh. I talk to him all the time,” he says. It’s a damn lie and he knows it. He hasn’t talked to Eddie since that initial reunion they had... but he thinks about him all the time. His pretty eyes, his pretty hair, that cute little New Yorkian accent he has now, the fact that he matches his outfits with his cardigans... everything about him is still just so alluring.

Rudy scoffs a little. “No, you don’t.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“Oh, my god. Just go talk to him. You _obviously_ like him.”

Richie is about to open his mouth to refute him, tell him to_ ‘shut the fuck up’, _call him a hater or a big poopyhead or something else childish, until he realizes that

(oh my god Eddie’s dressed as a nurse) 

arguing is going to get him nowhere. Because he remembers that

(he did the same outfit for Halloween that summer)

(didn’t he?)

Rudy is not the type of person to just lie down and let you get over on him. 

Walking across the street and entering the shop is not nearly as bad as it was before. He can actually tolerate to open the doors and walk inside without being a bundle of nerves. The bell on the door jingles above his head, light and pleasant, to let everyone in D&D know that someone has entered their shop—and they all smile and wave in unison.

“Hey, Mr. T!”

“Val, Nat, Shells,” Richie says to the girls, smirking and giving them finger guns as he does so. They’re all really sweet girls—really helpful and upbeat. He’s taken a liking to all of them. And they seem to have taken a liking to him as well. Because they _love_ taking the piss out of him. Valencia smirks and says:

“You’re here for Mr. K, aren’t you?”

_“Whaaa? No!”_ he says... and oh god, how _stupid_, he can feel himself blush again. “I’m just here to give you ladies a hello. I mean, and Eddie too, but—”

(heh, nice save)

The girls all shriek and giggle. Richie kind of has an idea why, but he can’t be _too_ sure. 

[it was _not_ a nice save.] 

While they’re still trying to compose themselves from their unabashed giggling, Eddie comes from the back of shop. He has a stethoscope on his neck, flowers in his hand. 

“Sorry sir, you can’t be in here if you’re not in costume,” he says and shrugs—and Richie grins, because

(how fucking _cute_)

it seems that their dynamic hasn’t changed at all. 

“Whatchu mean? I _am_ dressed up! As your mom’s husband,” he says without missing a beat. Eddie falters, smiles and rolls his eyes; puts his hands on his hips in the cute way he’s always done. 

“The second Mom Joke in all of—what, a month? I thought you’d grow outta those. We _are_ 30, after all.”

“What? You’re never too old for a Mom Joke!”

“Pffft, whatever.”

“But I didn’t come over here to be hilarious—”

“_Great!_ Cause you’re not doing a good job if you were—”

Richie points to Eddie’s chest. “I came here for _you_.”

_“Me?”_ Eddie tries not to show it in his facial features, but the hue of his face completely gives away the fact that he’s flustered. “Why? For what?”

“Because,” Richie says. He easily slides right beside Eddie and links their arms together. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“I’m not gonna tell you no,” Eddie mumbles—and the almost timid way that he does is enough to make Richie want to melt on the floor. But then, after composing himself, he looks to the girls. “Are you guys down with manning the fort?”

“Sure!” Natalie says. And then, while smirking and looking at Shelbie and Valencia, says: “Don’t have _too_ much fun, Mr. K!”

Neither one of them dignify her with a response.

* * *

They decide to walk through the shopping center, nothing too major—it’s pretty downtown, and Richie is just going to consider this 

(a date)

showing Eddie around a little—seeing that he doesn’t think he’s from this part of the woods. 

“So you weren’t living in Cali this whole time, were you?” He asks. “Because if you were, I’m _really_ about to feel like a clown.”

Eddie laughs. The corners of his mouth crinkle with his nose, and Richie loves that. “You don’t have to _feel_ like one. You _are_ one. But nah, I wasn’t. I was in New York.”

“Cute. You always used to talk about wanting to go there, didn’t you? When we were younger.”

Eddie looks over to him, and his eyes flash with something bright and special. “Wait, you _remember_ that?”

“‘Course I do! I _always_ remember things my little Eddie Spaghetti tells me. _Mwwah!_”

“Pfft, shut up.”

Richie grins. “Okay, but seriously—what made you move all the way from that cold ass place to this moderately warmer place?”

_“Moderately?”_ Eddie asks—and puts his arms around his torso like he’s actually cold. “Hell no, man—it’s _way_ warmer. Like, you call _this_ a winter? I’m _burning up_ over here.”

_“Then why the hell are you wearing that cardigan?” _

“So I don’t get sick,” Eddie says, matter-of factly.

Richie breaks up into childish giggles. “That literally makes _no sense,_ dude.”

Eddie seems like he has some fight in him—but he resigns to smiling and rolling his eyes. “_Whatever!_ But to answer your question, I moved here for a change of scenery. 

...Who am I kidding? I came here to run away.”

Now Richie is completely interested. “From _what_, do tell?”

“Remember how my mom was? Well, yeah—that.”

“Damn, ya Mama still alive and she hasn’t even _hit me up? _What a _shame_—”

“No, asshole. She’s dead. I’m talking about my wife.

(he’s _straight_/ he’s _married?_)

[his heart breaks.]

“Well—_ex_-wife, as of April.” 

Richie wilts. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I take things too far. I didn’t know she was dead, dude...” And then he re-inflates._ “Or that you were married!?”_

Eddie’s smile grows brighter—and _thank god,_ it didn’t seem like he was upset about anything he said. “Don’t sweat it. Hell, you didn’t know. And what, you didn’t think I could get married?”

“‘Course I did. _Duhhhh_. Cause you’ve always been super cute. _And_ you’re a catch.”

“O-oh.”

(shit.) 

Eddie chuckles. “You think I’m a _catch?_”

_(shit.) _

“Well, I mean—I’m not taking it back now!”

And even though they’re pretty much silent as they loop their way in a big circle back to their shops—he can feel Eddie’s eyes glance over at him from time to time. But only for a second... as if he’s scared to be caught staring, or something. 

“You’ve never showed me your shop,” Eddie is saying. They’re on his side of the street now, in front of the doors of A Thousand Tattoos—and they had just enough time to spare before closing time. They had walked together across the street so Eddie could lock up D&D, and check the locks three times (it was _even cuter_ up close). They had watched all of their employees safely get in their cars. And now, Richie walks in to ATT behind Eddie _(“after you, madam”),_ and locks the door behind them. 

It was mostly dark in the shop now, so people would know they were closed—but Richie left on a little light near the back, so him and Eddie could see. He gestures towards the entire shop with jazz hands. “_Ta-daaa!_ You likey?”

“Yeah, I likey,” Eddie says, not even fighting him this time on his silly vernacular. He watches Eddie as he takes everything in—looking at the chairs, to the equipment, to the three computers they used for editing. “It’s so clean.”

“Yeah, well—its a tattoo parlor, baby.”

Eddie carefully sits on the front desk, with Richie walking around the chairs to follow. “You’re gonna get enough of taking the piss outta me one day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Richie grins, giddy. He’s teasing him now. “Well, I don’t think it’s gonna be _today_.” 

“Oh, my god. What can I do to make to make you shut the fuck up?” Eddie says a bit sharply—but he’s still all smiles. “I’ve been tryna figure that out since we met.”

“You know what you could do?” Richie says, his voice a little lower, he’s closing the distance—and he figures, what the hell? He’s in too deep; he might as well take the plunge now. “You could kiss me. That would shut me _right the hell up._” 

“That’s _all?_” Eddie says... and the smirk spreads all across his face. “If I knew that’s all I had to do... I would’ve shut you up a _long_ time ago.”

And he puts his hands on either side of Richie’s face, and he kisses him. 

(holy shit, he’s _actually doing it_) 

It starts out cute and chaste at first—little closed-mouthed kisses on the lips, as if they’re both kissing somebody for the first time. And then—passion and fervor, sloppy and with desperation. They nip and bite, they knock things off the desk, they intertwine their bodies together.

And Richie thinks it’s, quite honestly, _the best feeling in the world._

He trails down Eddie’s jawline and places kisses there, down his neck—anywhere that’s exposed and he’s allowed. It’s so nice; the smell, the taste... that he decides a couple of nibbles on the neck wouldn’t hurt at all. 

“Stop that,” Eddie whispers—but he clings to Richie’s shirt tighter, the whisper is long and drawn out, he doesn’t push him away.

He nibbles down a little further, past Eddie’s neck, into his collarbone—and that’s when he _does_ get a little bit of resistance.

“_Stop,_ Rich,” Eddie repeats, a little more audibly—but he’s giggling. “It fucking _tickles_.” 

He revels in everything. “Ahh, you’re so goddamn _cute,_” he says... and he means it. He wants this moment, this feeling, to last forever—

But one of their phones ring. They both jump, they both separate, and they both check to see which one of their phones is ringing. _Especially_ so late at night. It’s Eddie’s. 

He sighs—and when Richie sees him jump off the front desk and back onto the floor, he _knows_ that isn’t a good sign.

“God, what the fuck does _she_ want?” 

“Oh, who is—”

Whenever Eddie answers the phone, Richie can hear a female voice, alright. But she sounds distressed. He can’t quite place his finger on it, but she sounds... _scared_? _Angry_, maybe? Eddie is already rolling his eyes and heading toward the door. 

“Yeah... no. Wait—_what? No_—hold on,” he says, puts the phone on mute, and spins back around on his heels to face Richie.

“I’m _really_ sorry, I gotta go,” he says—and smiles, rather apologetically. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Richie stammers out... and before he’s able to process what’s happening, Eddie has unlocked the door and is outside, walking back to his car, seemingly arguing with this woman on the phone. 

Richie has to admit to himself that he’s a little jealous. Just whenever they were getting to the fun part 

[confessing his love to Eddie]. 

Who is that 

(bitch)

woman on the phone that seems to be stressing Eddie out so much? Wasn’t she the reason why Eddie said he wanted to run away? 

(is that his ex-wife?) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valencia, in the girls’ group chat: you guys think they’re in there fucking or nah


	4. pineapple print

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smh.... these dudes right here......
> 
> this chapter is a little shorter than the others //shot 
> 
> i’m sure the other chapters won’t be!

They don’t talk the next day. Or for about a week, really.

And Richie is resigned to staring back across the street. He thought they were doing well... what happened? He’s almost certain that Eddie is going through his own things 

(with his [ex] wife)

and it has nothing to do with him—but no contact right after their intimacy has him doubting himself. He’ll look across the street, and Eddie will mainly look stressed, on the phone, yelling. And on the offset that he does look back across the street, he won’t even look Richie in the eyes.

He’s _really_ starting to wonder if he did something wrong.

Viper and Rudy are trying to take the piss out of him, aren’t they? Well, Rudy mainly. He can’t really hear them; it’s mainly static. Everything seems so far away and words and sounds sound so disembodied. He didn’t think that something like this would effect him so badly. But he just wants Eddie to 

(love me)

be able to talk to him and to trust him, and to pick up where they left off in their friendship so many years ago. In between tattooing clients, keeping up his persona, and doing paperwork, he doesn’t have much else. He puts his hand in his hands; tries to drown out the noise

(whenever I carved our initials in the bridge I wanted him to know it was me). 

God, this is a _wreck_. 

And a bunch of static. 

Static... wait.

They’re calling his name.

_“Richard!”_ When he looks up, it’s Rudy. Viper’s behind him—but with stuff like this, he just tends to let Rudy take the reigns. But beyond that, they both look concerned. 

“Huh?”

“What’s wrong? Did you and Mr. K get into a fight or something?”

“No,” he says—and he feels oddly cold and defensive. “What makes you think _that_.”

He wishes he wouldn’t have ever asked, because now Rudy—in his typical fashion—is about to rip him a new one.

_“Well, for starters,” _he says, pointing his index finger up for extra emphasis. “You look _terrible_, Rich. Like you haven’t slept in days. And, oh my god, like a kicked puppy—you’re staring really sadly across the street again.”

“Hm. Im not sad. Just stressed out,” he says. Even tries to pout.

[he’s funny]

[but _not_ a good liar.] 

“The babes at D&D said that Eddie’s moping too,” Viper says, smirking a little. “If it makes you feel any better.”

“I’m _not_ moping! ...But why is he?”

Viper shrugs, that stupid grin still plastered on his face, like he knows more than what he’s trying let on. “I dunno. Crazy ex. And, according to the chick with the big titties: ‘I miss Richie. I think I’ve made him mad.’”

(he what?)

(are you fucking with me right now?)

_(he misses me?)_

“‘Big titties’?” Rudy echoes. He grimaces and squints his eyes. “Shut _up_.”

“It’s true!”

“Well _anyway,_” Rudy says, turning his attention back to Richie and completely trying to ice Viper out. “It seems like you’re both upset about whatever happened. He thinks _he_ upset _you_—and it’s obvious that _you_ think you upset _him_. You should really go talk it out.”

He’s already out his seat and halfway to the door when he turns around, sighs, and says: “_Goddamn it,_ Rudolph. I _hate_ it when you’re right.”

“You must fucking despise me then,” Rudy replies, completely deadpan... at first, but then his resolve finally breaks, 

(he’s _so much_ like Stan)

and he gives Richie a little half-smile.

* * *

He hates it that he feels that anxiousness again—those same annoying nerves that he felt before. It almost feels like he’s going into D&D for the first time

(this is _stupid_)

(why is it so hard?). 

He even contemplated waking back to his side of the street. Really. He puts his hand on the handle, takes it off, puts it back on—at least five times. Now he _really_ feels like Eddie. 

Eddie. 

God, isn’t it annoying how _everything_ is so wrapped up in his name now?

(hey, jackass)

(it always has been) 

He’s seriously considering taking his hand off the door for the last time and walking back to ATT, when the door opens for him.

It’s him. 

He also, apparently, looks a mess. He looks sad and tired and like he hasn’t slept in a while. But he still sees Richie and smiles.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” he says. 

Richie blushes—hard. “Same here, Spaghetti Head. I came here for you actually—”

Eddie blinks. “You did it again.”

“What?” He asks, offers up a dumb smile. “Call you Eddie Spaghetti?”

And he gets a smile back. “Heh, yeah. You haven’t called me that in forever. Get in here.” 

He never gets over how pretty D&D is, how organized it is, how good it smells. He doesn’t even like fucking flowers, but he guesses he’s partial to the little place. Eddie has a little break room in the back, so they go and sit in there. And the first thing he says to Richie is: “Rudy told me you were upset.”

“And Viper told me _you_ were,” he responds back. He’s teasing. 

Eddie takes the bait. “Hm. Well, we were both just walking around, being upset. Why didn’t you just come over here sooner?”

“Hell, why didn’t _you_?” He’s still teasing—and Eddie cuts his eyes up at him and laughs.

“Shit. I dunno, actually.”

“Well, I’ll tell you why _I_ didn’t,” Richie says, and he’s leaning a little forward in his seat. “I was, uh... scared? That I did something wrong. After we...?”

“Made out?” Eddie finishes for him, a little ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.

He blushes. Hard. _Again_. “Yeah. After we made out.” But then he gains his traction again. “We’ve gotta talk about that, y’know. To be honest with you, I didn’t even know you rolled that way at _all_. Especially seeing that you got that call from, y’know, your ex-wife.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what I am,” Eddie says, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks embarrassed. But then he adds: “She’s my ex-wife for a reason.”

“_Oh?_ Do tell. You were sleeping with your Mistress?” He points to himself. “I didn’t know she found out about us. I’m so sorry.”

“Shut up,” Eddie snickers. But _then_ he says, “By the way—I liked it, y’know,” barely audible.

“Huh?” he asks, dumbly. “Liked what?”

“Making out, stupid. What else?”

Even though it means a lot to him to know that Eddie liked the intimacy as much as he did, Richie still grins and gaps for theatrics. “Eddie! How _scandalous! _You cheat on your loving wife with me, and then you ask for my hand! What an _adulterer!_”

“See,” Eddie is gesturing towards him, grinning and rolling his eyes at the roleplay. “When I say you haven’t changed at all, _this_ is what I mean. You’re the same annoying ass, not-being-able-to-dress-nicely ass, Richie. Look at you, in your loud ass shirt. What are those, pineapples? I bet you had a shirt just like it when we were younger.”

Richie can’t help but to giggle. “Are you mad or are you Big Mad?”

“Pfft, I’m not mad at all. Despite all of that,” Eddie is saying—he’s leaning in his chair, too. “I always thought you were cool.”

“And _I_ always thought you were _cute_,” Richie says on impulse.

_(shit!)_

Eddie is standing up and getting out of his chair, and walking to Richie’s own. He’s grinning. He’s got this weird glint in his eye that Richie can’t really place. 

(is it lust?)

[he’s not gonna argue either way.]

And he does something weird—he plops down and straddles Richie’s lap, looping his arms around his neck, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You keep on saying shit like that, Richie. ‘Oh, you’re cute. Oh, you’re a catch’. Well, show me that you mean it.”

(am I asleep)

“And how exactly would I do that, Edward?” He teases—and he can’t help it. He grins so wide that it may split his face. He’s beside himself. He knows _exactly_ what Eddie wants... and he gives it to him. Just like they did the first time. He gives him a cute, almost tentative kiss on the lips at first—but then it’s explosive. And Richie has said it before, and he’ll say it again, with such conviction, that 

(this is all I’ve ever wanted)

this is the best feeling in the fucking _world_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natalie: hey guys they’re making out again


	5. sweet nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, sobbing on the floor: none of them are dead goddamn it they’re all happy and alive

The beginning of November came and went. And even though the weather didn’t match up with the season, it was still nice to bundle into a scarf or a blanket every now and then. He loves looking across the street—it’s one of his favorite past-times now. Because every time he looks, he sees Eddie in a different outfit, a different cardigan. Even though, now that Eddie mentions it, he realizes it isn’t really cold at all.

Eddie’s spirits seem to be lifting a bit. He doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t been answering his ex-wife phone calls, or because of 

(me) 

something else.

They hang out all the time now. They even hold hands. Richie will stick to the notion that this is all he ever wanted, even though he won’t say it loud. He doesn’t exactly know, romantically, where him and Eddie stand—but he enjoys it at the moment. And Eddie seems to be enjoying it, too. Because when they’re doing their weekly walk downtown, Eddie suddenly grins and looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s got you smiling all big like that, baby?” he asks... and Eddie only grins wider before he talks.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says.

“A surprise? _Eeeek!_ I hate those!”

“No, no,” Eddie is saying, “I _really_ think you’re gonna like this one.”

_Well—whatever you say, my sweet Spaghetti Head. _

But to be honest, he thought that Eddie was pulling his strings a bit. Just like that one time when they were kids. He wonders if Eddie remembers? That one time on Eddie’s birthday. The birthday boy in question had told Richie that he was up for a kiss. And they could kiss, like in the movies, on a chilly night in November...

(wait!)

“Your birthday’s coming up,” he says suddenly. His eyes flash with excitement, a little apprehension. He really hopes he rememberedcorrectly. “Right?”

...Apparently, he did. 

Because Eddie’s face flushes entirely. “Yeah, holy shit. Your memory’s _so good_.”

(nah baby)

(It’s just intuition)

“_Really?_ I was right? Gooood!” Richie chirps. He’s elated that he got Eddie’s birth month right. He thought he was mixing him up with some other Loser. And if _that_ were the case, he was going to feel so incredibly stupid for that purchase he made, quick and impulsive, to—

“Well, then,” he finishes. “I’ve got a surprise for _you_, too.”

“Eeek. I hate surprises,” Eddie echoes... but his eye roll is playful, and he’s got a cute little smile on his face. 

It’s a Saturday when they go on their downtown walk—so today, the two men have all the time for chitter-chatter and surprises in the world. Speaking of chattering: Eddie has been rambling about Richie’s surprise the whole time he’s guiding them to wherever they’re going. It’s cute. Maybe he’s nervous. It makes Richie feel good that he’s not the only one whose had those jitters—_still_ have those same strong feelings, every time he sees him.

“Viola! We’re here,” Eddie announces, and the two are standing in the front of a back door. It appears to be the back of some restaurant or studio or the like... and Eddie swings the door open. He’s already halfway through the door before he looks back with a smirk on his face.

“You comin’ or not?”

_(god he’s so beautiful)_

[Richie should snap out of his daze.]

“Oh, shit! Yeah! I just know we could waltz right in through a mysterious door! My bad. I’m right behind ya, dahlin’.”

So, he was right about one thing: it _is_ a studio. It’s big and spacious, with lights so big and bright that they look like stage lights for a play. There’s the Famous Desk, albeit smaller than his and Eddie’s—and it has papers strewn about it

(that would drive Stan _crazy_)

(god, I miss Stan). 

“Feel free to look around,” Eddie is saying—and he’s grinning again. The little minx. But he takes the advice; he looks around the studio at all the different equipment that’s set up. Once upon a time, he wanted to be... well, he wanted to be many things growing up. But the Main Thing that he wanted to be, was a comedian. Set the stage; his name on Billboards and up in lights. He wanted to be—

_“Boo!”_

—Famous, yeah. Famous is the word he was _about_ to say before he gets the shit scared out of him. He whips around, fully expecting Eddie to be there behind him... but falters when it’s another guy entirely.

This guy is looking him square in the eyes, so they must be the same height. He’s a brunet, just like Eddie, he’s got blue eyes; he’s so handsome. He looks like he could 

[direct]

lead a whole crowd in any direction. And—like he felt about Eddie before they had their reunion—this guy looks _so familiar._ Leader, handsome—handsome leader... 

(oh my _god_ it’s)

_“Big Bill!”_ He screams, legitimately excited. He was _almost_ positive when he saw Eddie that it was him—but with the upmost certainty, this _has_ to be Bill. So with that being said, all of Richie’s second guessing goes out of the window. And he pulls Bill into a hug.

“I didn’t think you’d recognize me,” Bill says in the middle of the embrace. He’s chuckling. He talks slower and with more control now, but he doesn’t stutter. “But I’m glad you did. It would suck to have to explain how I was always roasting you.”

“_You_, roasting _me?!_” Richie asks, faux-incredulously, letting himself get caught up in the moment. Then, after his and Bill’s hugging, he asks (probably) the most obvious question. “Eddie! Was this your surprise?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says from a distance, and shrugs. He’s probably trying to seem nonchalant... but Richie can tell from his face that he’s _elated_. 

Ah, Bill. It seems like the more that Richie talks about the Losers, the clearer that each individual one of his friends become in his mind. If Stan was his little brother, then Bill was his older one. They did so much shit like siblings—they fought, they had inside jokes, they took the piss out on each other. And—like his dynamic with Eddie—it seems like his dynamic with Bill never changed. 

They all chat and laugh, laugh and chat—Bill brings all of them out a cup of tea, and Richie even gets to meet his wife 

(geez, did _everyone_ get married?). 

There just seems like so much to catch up on. It seems like it’d be hard to fill in the gaps of your life to someone that you haven’t seen in almost three decades. But it feels like thirty minutes. It seems like the three of them were never separated at all.

“I didn’t know that you were bringing Richie here,” Bill is saying—and him and Richie have got their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders in the chummy way that they used to do. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and smiles. “You guys were each other’s surprises.”

And Bill—who, the more he talks, Richie realizes that he’s _so much _alike—looks at Eddie and says: “Surprises? Huh. Well. In that case, _I’ve_ got a surprise for _you_, too.”

It seems like it takes forever to get to Eddie’s birthday—and Richie has to admit that he’s really antsy. He doesn’t know if Eddie will like his gift or not (yes, he got him a gift), and that’s what’s really driving him up a wall. Right before the day of, on November 16th, he decides to take it up with the High Council.

“You got him a _ring?_” Rudy is asking, and he seems genuinely shocked. 

“Yeah!” Richie says, and shrugs. “It doesn’t seem like I’m gonna _propose_ to him or anything... right?”

Viper is smirking. He can barely contain his amusement. “I dunno. You tell me.” 

“I’ll answer _for_ you,” Rudy chimes in. “Yes.”

And even though he’s embarrassed (but c’mon, Richie—it’s a _ring_, what did you expect?), he jumps out of his seat and gives his friends a big grin. “Well, regardless of what it looks like... I’m not taking the ring back back, goddamn it.” 

Because, for some reason 

[intuition]

he has a feeling that Eddie really is going to like his gift after all.

* * *

The next day, on Eddie’s birthday, he gets a text from Bill (after exchanging numbers, of course) to meet up at the studio. He remembers his way there—mostly because Eddie took him there... and things that Eddie does tend to get cemented in his mind

(because I’m stupid).

He walks downtown, to the backside of the buildings, and heads to Bill’s door. He sees a couple of cars and a truck parked behind the buildings and figures that they’re employees to some of the shops. And he can’t help but to impressed when he walks in, too—because the first thing he notices is that Bill decked out the entire studio, decorated it fit for a party. 

And the second thing that he notices is that Bill is talking to a group of people. 

And one of them 

(holy shit oh my god)

is so damn distinct, just like Bill was, that Richie recognizes him immediately. Because 

(it’s) 

_[“Stan!”]_

you _never_ forget your best friend. 

_“Richie?”_

Stan looks exactly like he pictured he would: tall, very crisp and orderly, and cleanly shaved now. And Richie runs up to him like they’re in a rom-com, and makes up time for _all_ the hugs he couldn’t give for twenty seven years. 

“Stan! Stan the _Man! _It really _is_ you!” he yells, and everybody else in the group shared a laugh 

(wait... you’re fucking _kidding_).

“Yes. Yes, it’s me,” Stan echoes, completely deadpan—but Richie can hear that he was laughing a little, too.

He’s rambling now. “You look so good! Like, Daddy material! And you’re _bespectacled_ now! You look like a fucking dork!” 

“I’m sure I’m still not as blind as you,” Stan says. “_Dork_. And are you crying on me.”

“No, I’m not!”

[yes, he _totally_ is.]

And when Richie finally pulls away from his and Stan’s theatrical embrace, he finally gets some time to look at the rest of the group that Bill was talking to

(it can’t be all of them). 

And it’s the rest of the Loser’s Club. All of their friends. 

He theatrically hugs them all, one by one. 

“How are you guys here?” He asks. “We can’t have all ended up in the same state. Right?”

“Well, here’s the scoop,” Bill answers. “I’ve been planning a surprise party for Eddie for months, and I called everybody up so we could all be here.”

“_I_ didn’t get a call!” Richie says, pretending to be mortally wounded. “And never say that again.”

“Pfft. You joke, but I _was_ gonna call you until Eddie brought you here. He just did some of the work for me.”

The feeling of having the closest friends you’ve ever had in your life, back in one room, is one of the greatest things. They enjoy each other’s company until Eddie is to show up. And it’s funny: everybody just seems to fall back in their old dynamics, even though they’re all much older now. Stan’s still with his dry humor, Bev is still fiery, and Mike is still as sweet as banana bread. And oh man, the Haystack thing that Richie used to call Ben was kinda mean—because it derived from “needle in a haystack”, and he loved oxymoron. But the nickname didn’t fit anymore. Now, Ben was the _needle_. 

Oh, yeah. And still as sweet as banana bread, too.

“You look like you’re from the cast of _Supernatural_ or something, now,” Richie is saying, and claps Ben on the back (who blushes).

“Aw, I don’t think so,” Ben replies, rubbing the back of his neck. But then he smiles, and adds, “but thanks.”

And right after that, the door to the studio begins opens, letting light in from the outside, and Eddie steps in. A little sooner than Bill was anticipating, seeing from his face. It’s supposed to be a surprise party, right? Well, nobody has time to hide. So they all just turn their bodies to where they’re facing the door and yell: _“Surprise!”_

“Oh my god! You almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack,” Eddie says, his eyes wide—he’s even clutching his chest 

(cute cute _cute_).

But _then_, his eyes get impossibly wider as he stares at all the faces, taking all of their features in. “Holy _shit_, Bill. No you _didn’t_.”

“Yes, I _did_,” Bill says—and wears the same proud smile that Eddie did the other day. 

“Oh, my god! Is it really _all of you?_” Eddie is smiling, jogging over to the rest of the group. And, like Richie, he hugs them all one by one. “Mikey’s out here looking like the Old Spice guy! And Bev! And Stan!” And then he hugs Ben last, and stammers a bit. “A-and Ben! You look great, like you’re from _True Blood_ or something.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Mike says, and he’s laughing.

“That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell him!” Bev chimes in.

Ben flushes even redder than he was before. “Gosh, you guys. The compliments! I can’t handle them all.”

“You guys are all so damn stubborn,” Bev grumbles—but in good spirit, apparently. Because she smiles, pulls them all into a big group hug, and says: “Just like I remember. My boys.”

“And you’re our gal,” Richie says, and everybody agrees. And they stay in that circle like that for a while. The circle they’re all so accustomed to... even if they don’t remember. 

The party is going great. All the girls from D&D show up, bearing gifts, and Viper and Rudy show up, too. (And holy shit, how geeked is Richie to introduce his old friends to his newer ones.) Shelbie, Natalie, and Valencia compiled a bunch of pictures and made a _huge_ photo album for Eddie. It’s powder pink, just like their shop logo—and the album is named _Call MeDaffodil_. 

“You’ve given so much to us, so we wanted to give something back,” Valencia says. “Because you’re the best boss in the world.” 

Viper and Rudy have two bouquets of bright blue flowers for Eddie. “To pay you back for the hospitality.”

And the gift-giving goes like that for awhile, with Eddie being so appreciative and thankful for every single one. Richie’s slightly embarrassed now—he didn’t know that there was going to be a party, and he _definitely_ didn’t know that the _whole_ _Loser’s Club _was going to be here. So he has to wait till a time he can pull Eddie to the side. He wants to do it privately.

He waits until everybody’s chatting and listening to music. He doesn’t know some of the songs that people request, because it’s mainly pop—and rap and rock n’ roll are his jam, personally. But he recognizes some of the Calvin Harris songs. And, even though a lot of them are heartbreak-y... Eddie singing them makes them bright and magical. Like he could fall in love. 

“Crazy how we’ve been doing... whatever this is, and you didn’t even get me a gift,” Eddie teases, even sticks his lip out.

They’re alone now. Well, not _entirely_—the party is still going on, but they’re at a distance from most of the crowd. 

Richie gasps; theatrically puts his hands up to his chest. “I actually _did_ buy you a gift, and you’re trying to _clock me?_”

“Oh really? You bought me one for real?” Eddie smirks. “Well, if you’re not joking, then where is it?”

That’s whenever Richie decides to reach into his pocket and pull it out. It’s a ruby ring with a gold band. Simple enough, yeah, but it actually cost him a pretty penny—but that doesn’t matter if Eddie actually likes it. Which, whenever he makes it a big show of sliding it onto Eddie’s finger, it seems like he does.

“Are you _proposing to me?_” Eddie asks—but then he drops the teasing and actually pulls Richie into a hug, and hugs him really tightly.

“I can be, if you wanna,” Richie says. He grins into Eddie’s neck.

“Shut up. This is so nice though... thank you so much.”

“Yeah, no problem. Anything for you.”

But then, when Eddie pulls away, his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks a little concerned. “This must’ve cost you a lot. How do I repay you?”

“Dude, you don’t have to pay me back,” Richie replies, genuinely shocked. “It’s your _birthday!_”

Eddie rubs his shoulder. “I know, but... I just feel bad.”

“Well, if you’re _really_ hellbent on it, I know how you can pay me back,” Richie grins._ “With a thousand kisses!”_

“You’re so annoying,” Eddie says—but he wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, and he’s grinning. But he actually _does_ kiss him on the lips—sweetly this time. “999 more to go.” He has to stand on his tiptoes to do so, but Richie doesn’t let him fall.

The party ends hours later, and everybody goes back to their homes or hotels to wind down. Not without the Losers exchanging numbers, of course

(I lost you guys the first time I’m not doing it again). 

Richie is so giddy from all of the days events that he finds that he can’t sleep. So he does the most rational thing he can think of. He does what he used to do when he was a kid: 

**Richie Rich:** stanlieeee i can’t sleep i miss ya face and did u know that i love eddie lmao

It takes a while for Stan to respond, but when he does,

**Stan the Man:** Stanley**. I miss you too. And duh. He’s in love with you, too. He has been this entire time. Just like you.

he’s really thrown for a loop. 

(wait, has he _really?_)

God, if that were true... then what did Richie waste all this time for? Him and Eddie could’ve had their lives planned out by now. They could’ve confessed their love in 9th grade, been each other’s high school sweethearts, then graduated and went to college and bought a house and got a dog, even though Richie’s not super partial on dogs. He likes small ones, though. So they could’ve adopted a small dog. Maybe a Pomeranian. And 

(we could’ve gotten married) 

Eddie wouldn’t have had to feel like he had to run away. 

But the only thing—unbeknownst to either one of them—

[as they both fell asleep, in different beds, thinking about each other still]

is that even though you try to fix problems in your life... those same ones can try to come hurdling back towards you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike: wait I look like the Old Spice Guy?


	6. heads up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **tw for the q slur!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys last night i had a dream that richie and eddie got married and went to their honeymoon in vancouver. best bday gift ever
> 
> also i’m not writing stanlon?? gasp. hell must’ve frozen over

_Speaking_ of problems—

there are two things that Richie hates a lot: love and holidays. And with Thanksgiving over and Christmas steadily hurdling closer to, he can’t help but to feel a little annoyed. 

He doesn’t have any family here. His little sister had moved to Texas years ago, and their old folks decided to stay in Maine. And, besides—even if they were in the same state, he doesn’t really think his parents would want to spend the holidays with him 

(because I’m gay)

anyway. 

McKenzie might want to, though.

Now, the _love_. The love probably stems from the same reason why he doesn’t like the holidays. He knows his hang-ups can be linked to childhood traumas, but _also_... he just plain ole has had a problem with commitment regardless. 

But why is that so? He’s been engaged twice; he had a long-term girlfriend before that. But none of these girls—even though they were sweet ladies, save for one—were the key to making him fall fully in love. Sandra always told him, at the end, that he wasn’t the right person for her. At _all_. And that’s cool and fair—because he doesn’t really think _she_ was the right person for _him_, either. He thinks all this time he’s just been waiting for 

(him)

the right person to come along, and maybe he’ll be happy then.

Another reason why this particular season sucks, is all the days that the shop is closed. They’re closed on Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Day, and New Years. Bummer—because A Thousand Tattoos is the main way he keeps himself busy. And he gets to see Viper and Rudy then. But the holidays these past couple of years have been full of him just sitting by himself—and other than exchanging gifts with Viper and Rudy, celebrating them alone.

But not for long. 

He guesses he’s not the only one who’s lonely.

**Eddie Mercury:** Richie Rich

**Eddie Mercury: **If I make a shit ton of Thanksgiving food will you come over and eat it with me???

(shit, you don’t gotta ask _me_ twice.)

**Little Richard:** here i come baby ;-) 

He’s never been in Eddie’s house before—but when he first steps in the door he, can automatically tell how _Eddie_ it is. Pristine, organized, orderly. He’s got quite a few pictures neatly hung up on his wall. He’s even got a Christmas tree already set up and strewn with decorations. And the air smells like flowers. 

Eddie leads them to his kitchen—and not only does he have on an apron, but he looks like he’s overdressed to just be in his house cooking 

(I can’t get over how _cute_ he is). 

But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You weren’t busy, were you?” Eddie asks, and even though Richie snickers _(“wasn’t that a given?”) _he answers honestly anyway... even though he hates how pathetic the answer sounds.

“Nope!” he says cheerily enough. “I literally didn’t have shit else to do. If you hadn’t texted me, I would’ve just stayed holed up in my house.”

Eddie grins a little. “Hm. Same.” 

He finds comfort in that. 

It’s really domestic, in a lot of ways. He’s been able to trace down Eddie’s ribs with kisses as well as help him make Thanksgiving pastries. They don’t really talk about the hard-hitting stuff—just doing domestic stuff like a married couple is enough

(just having him _here_ is enough). 

And he has to admit—all of the fooling around that they’ve been doing is really fun, too.

“I don’t have any family down here either,” Eddie is saying. “So ya boy is kinda lonely.” And even though Richie is hugging him from behind, he can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s why I’m really glad you’re here.”

“No, you,” Richie giggles, completely giddy with himself 

[and he even gets Eddie to look back at him sharply with a face that reads_ “really?”_].

But _then_, he follows up—he pulls Eddie in closer to the hug and kisses him on the neck and whispers in his ear, “Nah, but seriously... I’m glad you’re here too.”

* * *

December always dreams to drag along... maybe because this is whenever Richie starts to get _really_ sad. Christmas is, like, the epitome of spending time with your family on the holidays. McKenzie’s birthday is in December,

(Stan’s birthday is in December too)

which is a sore spot—in since him and his sister haven’t spoken in half a year. And he hasn’t spoken to their parents in God knows how long. After Sandra broke off their engagement—which hurt like _hell_, by the way—they went cold. Like it was his fault. Like he was broken, or like he did something wrong. And he’s convinced that they 

(found me out)

started to suspect that he didn’t even like women at all. They didn’t say that explicitly... but that’s how they treated him

(and that’s how it _felt_). 

That’s it. That’s why he doesn’t like the holidays: they open up old wounds _every fucking year _and he’s expected to just sit on that sadness. With no closure from anybody. Not from Sandra, not from Mom and Dad, not from McKenzie. Not any fucking body.

So he’s fully expecting to hole himself up in his room, like he was going to do on Thanksgiving as well (and New Year’s), and listen to music, and maybe cry a little—but his friends won’t let him do that, of course. They _are_ the best friends he’s ever had, after all.

**Buffalo Bill:** You’re coming to the Christmas party I’m throwing

**Buffalo Bill:** I’m not accepting a no :) Unless ur busy 

[_“I’m not accepting a no,_ **unless** you’re busy”. Gotta love Bill.]

**Richard Ramirez:** i ain’t busy at all big billy

**Richard Ramirez: **who all gonna be there? 

**Buffalo Bill:** It’s a surprise ;) 

_For fuck’s sake._ Bill and Eddie with their surprises.

It’s kind of refreshing, though. 

This is an interesting thing—Richie hasn’t had to buy gifts for people in years, but he _loves_ buying them. That’s the predicament, though. Bill didn’t tell them who all was going to be at the party, so he has no idea who to buy for but Bill and Eddie. He’ll buy something small for all their friends, just in case, even if he has to mail it. 

But for some nagging reason

[**Buffalo Bill:** It’s a surprise ;)] 

he doesn’t think he’s going to have to mail anything at _all_. 

Bill told him that the party was going to be on December 22nd. Why not Christmas, the world may never know—but he stuffs his hands to his pockets and walks to Eddie’s house anyway. They decided that they should go together because they don’t live very far from each other. Besides (he blushes at this like he’s some teenage boy)... they get to hold hands. 

“Wouldn’t it be ironic if they were all here again,” Eddie says when they’re halfway to the studio, with a smirk. And by _They_, he means _all of their fucking friends._ “I don’t imagine they can always take off work. But, I mean—it’s the holidays.”

“Shit, it better _not_ be them,” Richie replies. “I’ve had enough excitement for one year. If I see them again, I just might _explode_.”

Eddie laughs. “I’d rather you not.”

Bill’s studio is festive; strewn with blinking Christmas lights. As soon as the two open the back door to the studio—still holding hands—they both shake their heads and laugh as they see... you guessed it. _All of their fucking friends. _

“Surprise!” they all yell—_again_.

“You motherfuckers,” Eddie says.

Bev is already snickering as the two are making their way to the rest of the group. She points to their (still intertwined) hands with an amused grin on her face. She circles around in the general area with her finger. “What’s _this?_” she asks. 

“Ha! Nothing!” Richie all but yells—again. And Eddie is even worse. He can’t even string together a full sentence. 

“Yeah, no—I, we—yeah, uh.” 

They let go of each other’s hands.

Bill lets out a little bit of a snort—but then otherwise falls into his typical leader dynamic, with everybody quieting down to listen to him. “It’s Stan’s birthday,” he explains to Richie and Eddie. “That’s why we’re doing this party a little early.”

“Shut up!” Richie yells. Falling into his usual theatrics feels much more natural. “You’re serious? Get outta here! _Stan the Man’s birthday? _How old are you, 22?”

“You flatter me,” Stan says flatly... but the ghost of a smile is playing on his face.

He didn’t notice when him and Eddie first walked in—but the brightest thing that Stan is wearing is a yellow birthday hat. He _also_ didn’t notice the brightly-dressed woman sitting right beside Stan, the two looking like a sun getting eclipsed by an upcoming storm.

“This is my wife, Patricia,” Stan says simply, motioning towards the sunny lady. But then, he lights up when he adds: “Pretty, isn’t she?”

“Hi!” Patricia beams. And then she giggles and adds: “Oh _stop it,_ Stanny.” 

_(Stan got married!?) _

(holy _shit_)

“You’re very pretty, Patricia! It’s nice to meet you,” Eddie says, and smiles, and politely shakes her hand. And when Richie (theatrically) shakes and kisses her hand, they find out they can just call her Patty.

The party is going great. They all sing Happy Birthday to Stan (who looks like he wants to sink to the bottom of his chair and die—but not really), they eat cake, they exchange gifts. And Stan, being the great friend that he is, got Richie a watch on _his own birthday._

“I know you’re a Watch Guy,” he says, simply enough.

And—oh, yeah. There’s a mistletoe, too. Mike brought it.

“In case somebody wanted to kiss,” he says innocently. Then he smirks. “Looking at you, Eddie and Richie.”

Damn Hanlon.

There’s _also_ alcohol. Ben brought _that_. 

“Everybody loves alcohol,” he says sweetly. 

Damn Hanscom. 

This is a bad combination. Richie is drunk off his ass before the party’s even halfway over. Everybody’s a little tipsy, yeah—save for him and Ben. Ben can hang. They can be each other’s drinking buddies. 

(hic! we both have a problem! heh heh! shhh)

Maybe that mistletoe was a good idea after all. The alcohol was, too. Everything was a good idea. Stan and Patty look _great_. So happy. He’s so happy all his friends are here. He’s so happy he doesn’t have to remember why he’s sad. He doesn’t have to think or even worry about his family right now. So great. 

Eddie. He’s _so great._ He’s looking so good over there by himself on the couch—his face, flushed and smiling; laughing at something that Bill or Mike said. He gets up off the couch when Bill and Mike both go to pour another drink, and walks right over to Richie—bumping into him in the process.

(hahaha! silly boy) 

_“Heyyy,” _Eddie says, and clings onto the front of his shirt, and giggles. 

“Hiya!” he says back. Just the man he wanted to see. “I gotta show you something!” And even though he slurs the entire damn sentence, he grabs Eddie’s hand and leads him over to the entrance of the door. Where the mistletoe is. He’s not very transparent. Eddie looks up, then back at Richie. He grins. 

“What, is _that_ what you wanted?”

Richie grins wide. “Heheh! Yeah. Come here, Eddie Spaghetti.”

And Eddie steps on his tiptoes again, smiling and flushed. He cups Richie’s face in his hands. And they kiss. It’s sloppy and fumbly. But they’re laughing. It’s _great_. 

But then one of their phones ring—again. It’s Richie’s.

It’s even more fumbly to break the kiss and to fish his phone out of his pocket, but somehow he manages. He’s still in such a good mood and he thinks that next to nothing can ruin it. So he answers the phone.

“Yellow!” 

It’s a female voice he’s never heard before. “Is this Richard?”

“Uhh! Yeah! Who’s this?”

“Myra. I’m Eddie’s...” she struggles to say the full phrase. “..._ex-wife._” 

He starts to sober up _immediately_. 

“Um,” he tries to start, and all of the general playfulness he had before has seeped out of his body. “No offense, but how did you get my number? And why are you calling me?”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says briskly. Coldly. He gets the image of a bush with thorns all around it. “But I’m calling you because Eddie won’t answer my calls. I think he’s blocked me.”

(don’t you just sound like a _peach_, lady)

“Oh?” he says stupidly. 

Eddie’s still flushed and smiling—and that’s the only good thing, that he doesn’t seem to notice whose on the phone. He’s still giggling and drawing circles on Richie’s shirt... which is the good thing distracting him from the bad. “Who is it, baby?” 

Myra seems to have heard him—and it only makes her angrier.

“That’s _all_ you have to say, is_ ‘oh?’_” Her voice is getting progressively louder. “You’re all hugged up on the love of my life—I can _hear_ him, by the way—and all you have to say is _‘oh?’_ Put him on the phone.”

Richie scoffs. “Yeah, no—I’m not doing that.”

_“Why not?”_ He can hear the sneer in her voice. “What are you—his little boyfriend, or his _dad?_”

“Neither! I’m his fiancé.”

(why did you _say_ that?)

He seems to have gotten the checkmate, though. Myra is silent for a long time. He can even hear her sniffle, after awhile... and he _almost_ feels bad for the lie.

“Fiancé, huh?” She echoes. “Well—just a head’s up, _Fiancé_—Eddie can try to run away from me all he wants, but I’m always going to find him. _Always_. Believe that.” 

“You ever wonder why he doesn’t want to talk to you?” Richie asks, starting to get weirdly defensive and angry

[protective].

“Or divorced you, for that matter? It’s because you’re fucking _crazy_. Like, you don’t even know me—and you’re calling me, for _what?_ If I were him, I wouldn’t wanna be married to you either.” 

Now he’s really starting to get under her skin. “You wouldn’t—? You don’t even know the _half_ of it, Richard. Or _Richie Rich, _or whatever the fuck he calls you.”

_(how the fuck did she know that?)_

“He divorced me because apparently, he’s a fucking _queer_. And just remember this, Richie. You’re not better than me. You’re a fucking queer. You’re both nothing but a couple of—”

“—_Aaaand_ this conversation is over. You’re batshit insane! Have a good life, though.” 

He hangs up and sighs... 

...and sees that Eddie fell asleep on his chest, standing up. He didn’t want him to have to hear that conversation _at all _and have to be upset during the holidays. 

Thank God, or whatever deity out there, for sleepy drunks. 

Jeez. If she’s gonna talk dirty to him like that, the _least_ she can do is take him out to dinner first. 

But in all seriousness—if _that’s_ what Eddie had to put up with on a daily basis, then he feels so bad for him. And he can see why he was so stressed out when D&D first moved across the street. He shakes his head a little, shaken up by the whole thing—but gently picks Eddie up bridal style regardless, and rejoins the rest of the party. 

(get it together Rich)

“Special delivery!” he chirps, and everybody else in the Loser’s Club laughs. “Where do I put Sleeping Beauty?”

“Eh, you can put him on the couch,” Bill says. It seems like he’s sobering up as well. “I’ll cover him up with a blanket, and he can crash here for the night.”

“Okie dokie! I think imma head out though. My head is fucking _killing me._”

“Aww, I hope you start feeling better!” Bev says—and whenever he lays Eddie on the couch, she pulls him into a hug. Then he gets to hug Mikey, and Haystack, and the birthday boy, too. 

And then he’s on his way. 

Going out into the night air is probably the best thing he can do right now. He doesn’t even _know_ what to make of what happened. Should he tell Eddie? Or should he just block that nutty Myra woman and let it go? He’s halfway back to his house when he finally decides that he will tell him. _Especially_ if it may cause problems in the long run if he doesn’t. But _before that,_ he has to do two things. Two things that he’s been putting off. And maybe both of them will make him feel better. 

**Little Richard:** heya spaghetti head i know ur asleep so u won’t see this right away but can i finally take u on a date? ;-) 

And he sighs, and psyches himself out... but sends it. 

Then, he pushes a few more buttons, sighs _again,_ and listens to the ringing of his phone. He psyches himself out. He thinks about hanging up. What if there’s no answer? What if the number’s been changed? 

But he _does_ get an answer. 

“Hello?” Then, a pause. _“Richie?”_

“Hey, Inky,” he says—and he can’t help but to smile. “I miss you.” It’s _his_ turn to pause, but when he does speak again, he adds: “Happy holidays, McKenzie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stan: Richie I love you to death but if you kiss my wife again I’ll slit your throat
> 
> Richie: I believe you too, that’s the crazy thing


	7. fi[r]st dat[e]s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yeah i’ll write some angst  
also me: *writes this shit*

She doesn’t even know what to say at first. He imagines her face: her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s; her eyes wide, like an animal caught in a trap.

“H-Happy...” she starts—and then she reconsiders. With vitality: “You too, Blinky. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he tells her—and means it. He misses her. And even through all of their Pac-Man talk and her amused bewilderment, the conversation goes pretty well.

So that was one thing out of the way that was really getting under his skin. He never wanted McKenzie to feel like he was taking the piss out of her because of something their parents did to him years ago, or something. After all—if he did, what type of big brother would he be? 

But now, as he gets off the phone—the response from the _second_ thing that he did is bright and glowy, and casting shadows on his face: 

**Eddie Mercury:** A date, huh???

**Eddie Mercury: **Sure. Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there  ♡

Ho-ly _shit._

(I even got a heart!)

To be completely honest, he didn’t think that Eddie was going to say yes. Why? 

(shit, I dunno)

He’s not really sure—but he was almost _a hundred percent _certain that he was going to get rejected. [I guess _that_ says a lot about your self-esteem.]

But man, he’s so goddamn happy. It’s a Christmas miracle—even though the shadow of Christmas is beginning to grow long like a shadow on [Maine] snow. No rejection means that he can get up and shower and hop into a nice shirt and some pants. No rejection means that he can pick Eddie up from his house. No rejection means that they’re one step closer to their marriage, their kids and their Pomeranian. They can hold hands forever. 

(whoooa there, buddy. pump the brakes.)

He has to (giddily) laugh at that imagery.

But he stops. He’s nervous. Is he nervous? He’s _definitely_ nervous. He hasn’t been on a proper date in—what, seven years

(all of us get a year, huh)?

Maybe longer. What if he fucks it up? He has, he thinks with growing dismay, a _great_ knack of doing that.

Well. Nervousness or no nervousness, he has to see it through. He takes a deep breath, sends a message,

**Little Richard:** say less baby ;-) 

swallows the feeling, and leaves through his front door to make the walk to Eddie’s house.

It seems like he’s not the _only_ one whose nervous. Eddie is blushing when he answers the door—and surprisingly, grinning with the same (now uncharacteristic) timidness he did when they were teenagers. 

“I was thinking, uh...” he trails off—and for a minute there, Richie thinks he’s going to say something Naughty. But the sweetness of what Eddie says just drives to make him more smitten. “I was thinking that we could stay in the house. If that’s a good idea.”

“It’s a _great_ idea!” he says dumbly... then feels dumb—but doesn’t take it back. “The forecast says it’s supposed to rain, anyway. Can you believe that shit? California rain right as I plan a fucking _picnic_.”

Eddie blushes even harder. “You were gonna—?” But then, maybe thinking long and hard against it, doesn’t finish his thought. But instead, he trails it along to another. “Well, hm. That’s good. I was wondering what I was gonna do with all these fuckin’ leftovers.”

“Eat em,” he replies sarcastically, walks further into the room so he can set up silverware and pillows. But it’s all in good fun. When he looks back, he can see that Eddie is leaned up against his couch—the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile.

* * *

An inside picnic never sounded so fun. Well, was it _really_ considered a picnic at this point, anyway? Eddie wants to compare it to the sleepovers that they and the Losers would have when they were younger. Richie wants to compare it to... well, an indoor picnic.

“It’s not an _indoor_ picnic,” Eddie is telling him. “That like, defeats the whole purpose of the word.”

“Who said a picnic has to be outside?” Richie says off-handedly. He mainly knows he’s wrong—but _mostly_ wants to rile Eddie up so they can bicker a little.

“What do you—look it up!” Eddie is leaning into him now, pressing their shoulders together, and he smells 

(like daffodils)

really good... and maybe his plan is backfiring, but in the best possible way. 

“Here, look. It says: _a picnic is a meal taken **outdoors** as part of an excursion._ That good enough for you?”

“No,” Richie says, grinning from ear-to-ear. “It’s _not_ good enough. I’m sure there’s a word for an indoor version of that.”

_“Well, it’s not ‘picnic’!”_

[they bicker about this for at least three more minutes]

(and bickering never felt so good). 

But in the grand scheme of things: they help each other set up their pic... er, _indoor meal_—reheating food and even laying down a blanket like they’re in the grass. And—he did this on purpose—just for pizzazz, Richie lights up all the candles that he brought and sets them around the room. 

And then they’re both sitting down, facing each other, with Richie sitting cross-legged and Eddie with his legs tucked out to the side of him.

“No seriously, though... this _is_ really sweet,” Eddie is saying. “This, on top of what you got me for Christmas, I would think that you were in love with me.”

(well, I _am_) 

[he can’t fucking say that.]

He snaps out of his daze of _am I really that transparent? _and grins and says, “Hey, I could be! Ya never know.”

“Yep, you never know,” Eddie echoes—but he doesn’t like the way that Eddie is looking at him, smirking at him out of the corner of his glinting eyes. It’s a look of _it’s_ _okay; I already know._ It makes him feel...

(embarrassed)

well, he doesn’t really know.

It’s quiet for a while—both of them eating, both of them blushing—and whenever the silence _is_ broken, they’re both trying to talk at the same time.

“I have something for you.”

“I have to tell you something.”

And they both stammer, flustered; both say, “you go first,” and then get flustered _all over again. _

“Okay, is yours good news or bad news?” Richie asks—and that makes Eddie cock his eyebrow.

“What, is _yours_ bad news?”

“I mean, yeah? Not really about...” he gestures to him, then to Eddie. “_Us_, but sorta?”

Eddie looks apprehensive now. “Uh, well... I’d rather you get it outta the way then.”

“Okay! Well! Myra called me.”

“_What_? Why?” God, it’s so terrible, the look on Eddie’s face. He can’t really place it.

_(is he scared?)_

“She said she was trying to talk to you.”

“How did she get your number?”

“I dunno, doll.”

Pet names aside—which _did_ draw a blush out of Eddie, by the way—he feels really bad for making his poor <strike>daffodil</strike> lover so upset. “Well, uh—block her,” Eddie says simply; even waves his hand in a dismissive way. “I knew she was vindictive, but not like _this_. Oh well, people surprise you.”

“Sure, I’ll block her, Spaghetti. But are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright. She’s just...” he trails off, looking down in between his knees, seemingly trying to find the right thing to say. “I dunno. But it’s okay. Because, uh...” he snaps his head back up to look at Richie, the ghost of a smile reappearing on his face. “Because I have you.”

_(!!!!!!!!!) _

For years, he’s been practicing on how he would respond in a moment like this. He would put his hand on Eddie’s face, say something along the lines of: _“No, baby. I have _you_. I finally have you. All these years I’ve tried to love and subconsciously, I’ve been holding out for you. I’ve always loved you, always wanted you. You, you, you. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”_ And then, he would kiss him. If they were standing up, he would tip him over _and then _kiss him. Like in the movies. And then, they’d live happily ever—

But all that shit goes out the window when he’s actually faced with the scenario right now. He’s reduced a smiling, giggling mess, not even capable of producing human speech. “_Ah!_ Eddie, I—ha... hehahahah...” 

“I wasn’t expecting you to get me a gift for my birthday,” Eddie starts. And, when he adds this, his face flushes considerably: “Yet alone a _ring_, of all things. And now I feel stupid because all I got you was, like, _clothes_ for Christmas. So I got you something else.”

And then he hands Richie a box. It’s a longer box than the one that Richie gave to him. He’s smiling too, laughing, reduced to a blushing mess who covers his face with his hands. “Tell me if you hate it; I can take it back.”

Richie’s convinced that it could be a friendship bracelet made from string and he _still_ wouldn’t ask Eddie to take it back. 

(is this a necklace?)

It _is_ a necklace. 

It’s beautiful, too. Like the  <strike>engagement</strike><strike></strike><strike></strike> <strike></strike><strike></strike>ring he put on Eddie’s finger, the necklace looks like it’s made of real gold. It’s a thin chain—but still looks nice and sturdy—with what looks like a locket attached to it. And _holy shit,_ at first he thinks he’s making it up... but the locket really and truly _does_ have letters engraved on the front of it. 

_R + E . _

(oh my god he knows about the bridge that’s why he did that it can’t be coincidence he knows he knows that I love him)

“Oh, man... I...” He can barely even talk; he’s beside himself, in more ways than one. “I love it. Eddie, I _really_ love it.”

And with this approval, he sees that Eddie is slowly lowering his hands from his face—when when he does, he’s grinning. “Do you want me to put on you?” 

“Yeah! Please do!”

He watches as Eddie gently takes the box from him and takes the necklace out. The ring, that he didn’t even realize that Eddie was wearing, is glinting and reflecting sunlight from its surface. He scoots over close to him, unlatched the necklace, and puts it on for him. 

“There you go—”

“Ah, you little minx!” And Richie throws away all vices and precautions—it’s in the air now. He turns around, and in one fell swoop, had Eddie in his arms and is kissing all over his face. Eddie is laughing—really hard, too. And it sounds so light and carefree. He’s happy because Eddie is genuinely happy.

He gets a couple of more kisses everywhere—cheeks, eyebrows, neck, chin, forehead—before Eddie stops him and simply says: “You’re missing the target.”

“Huh?” He’s legitimately confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Eddie says, still looking incredibly serious... but he taps his lips twice. They curl up, only slightly, into a smile. “The target.” 

“Ohhh, you want some sugar on the lips. Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

And he doesn’t. He kisses him and it feels like the first time—he’s sure it’ll _always_ feel like the first time. And when they finally break away, he looks at him with lidded eyes and says: “Eddie, you’re perfect. Will you marry me?”

And he gets that same smiling, bewildered look of _are you serious right now?_

“Jk,” he says, and laughs the hardest he’s laughed in a while, maybe his whole life. “But will you be my _boyfriend_, though?” 

“I will,” Eddie says, and rolls his eyes—but smiles again, kisses him again. He puts his hands on Richie’s face—a ring and eyeglasses catching the lights reflection until the sun goes down. 


	8. [hold/show] me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: now imma write fluff  
me, again: *writes this shit*

New Years is here and is gone as fast as it appears—but that’s never a bad thing, because he’s reunited with his gorgeous shop. And being reunited with his gorgeous shop not only means that he gets his distraction back, the socialization back—but he also gets to stare across the street, like usual. At a gorgeous boy.

(_my_ gorgeous boy)

But the only bad thing about being back to work is: his friends—well, just Rudy, in since Viper is out sick—don’t know how to stop running their fucking mouths. 

“You seem like you had a good holiday,” Rudy is saying. He’s living up to his namesake with his wearing of reindeer antlers... even though Christmas was now a good week ago. He _also_ seems like he had a good holiday, because he’s uncharacteristically bright and upbeat. He raises his eyebrow when he adds: “You spent all of itwith Mr. K?”

“Yes I did, DJ Rude,” Richie replies. And then, with a shit-eating grin, he continues. “I spent the holidays with my boyfriend.”

Rudy makes his mouth into a perfect O. _“Boyfriend?”_

“Yep! I asked him out over the holidays! And he said yes.” He can’t even control his excitement—he had just so badly wanted to burst open and tell somebody how he felt. And he figures out of everybody, Rudy would be a good first to know. 

“Finally! Well good job, Rich!”

“Thanks!” He’s silent for awhile, examining Rudy with squinted eyes (which the latter hates it when he does that)... but then he finds out what was nagging at him. Something was off. “Did _you_ have a good holiday? Something you need to tell me, or...?”

“Oh,” Rudy says—and his mouth turns into a straight, hard line... but he’s blushing. “Yeah. I—uh, I like Johnathan.”

_“You like Viper!?”_

“Well, don’t say it so loud that the whole fucking _street_ can hear you!”

[Richie, conveniently, ignores this statement.]

“When are you gonna tell him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Rudy laughs, but there’s no easiness to it—it’s a nervous laugh, something he himself is _very_ acquainted with. “Uh, never? I didn’t plan that far ahead.

“How can you—” 

But then Rudy suddenly falls silent, his eyes stony and fixed across the street. “Hey Rich, look over at D&D. What the _hell_ is happening over there?”

Instantly, he drops the subject and whips his head over to where he can see across the street—D&D and both of the stores neighboring it. There’s a commotion outside. People are scrambling out the front doors at an alarming rate, looking obviously startled. Damn, it’s like there was a fire or something, without any smoke.

(wait)

(did something happen to [Eddie/one of the girls]?)

“Let’s go over there and see what it is,” Richie says, uneasily. 

But when they walk across the street, doesn’t seem to be any fire, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of Eddie—or even Shelbie, Natalie, or Valencia. Whenever the crowd clears is whenever Richie sees her. It’s a woman

(yo, she’s huge! like Eddie’s—too soon)

large in stature—with frizzy, sandy-blonde hair going in every which direction on her head. There’s a hinging and unhinging of her jaws and a gnashing of teeth, like she’s a feral dog. And she’s using both of her hands to violently shake against the door—so hard, that Richie and Rudy look at each other uneasily, because they think the glass is going to shatter.

The woman is screaming. “Let me in, Eddie! _Let me the fuck in!_”

And Richie feels a weird sick feeling in his stomach

(holy shit)

because he feels like 

(is that Myra?)

he’s heard that voice before. The same bitterness, the same hatred, the same malice. 

Somehow, one of the D&D employees was able to shimmy through the departing customers and close and lock the door—but now the four of them (and a few straggler customers) are trapped inside. From where Richie is standing, he can see them now, and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it _at all._ They’ve put the straggler customers up against the safety of the wall behind them. But the girls are huddled up behind Eddie, clinging to him as well as each other. Eddie’s got his arms in a T position in a way to protect his girls—but he looks scared. They all look _terrified_. Natalie is crying. 

“I’m calling 911,” Rudy says, sounding a bit ill. “I’ll, uh... I’ll do that right now.”

“Okay,” Richie says dumbly. Honestly, it all feels like a fever dream. He can _not_ believe what he’s seeing.

Myra—that _has_ to be her, right?—is still shaking at the door, rattling the glass, looking akin to a rabid animal. She’s screaming, almost incoherently._ “Open the damn door or I’ll kill you and those little whores! Open the motherfucking door, Eddie!”_

And, in a shocking turn, she throws her head back as far as she can and brings it down into a headbutt on the door, most likely trying to shatter the glass. Screams can be heard from inside D&D.

People have always told Richie that he looks like a fighter, but that’s not the case. In fight-or-flight situations, his inclination has always been to freeze. But he unfreezes now. Something makes him unfreeze. 

(it’s the fear. they look so scared)

He’s gotta get this crazy bitch away from those sweet girls and his boyfriend. 

In _maybe_ not the smartest move in the world, he walks up a little closer to where Myra is bashing her head against the door and he yells, “Hey!”

She looks back at him. Blood is streaming from her forehead. 

“The fuck is your _problem? _Leave them the hell alone!”

And this interaction seems to fully catch her attention. She lets go of the door and gives Richie the most twisted, disgusting grin he’s ever seen in his life. “You must be Richie Rich,” she says. God, her voice is hoarse from all the screaming—it sounds eerie and terrible.

“Yep! That’s me!” 

_[“do you _always_ have to use humor as a go-to?”_ Rudy’s face is saying, as he’s on the phone.

“I’ve read so much stuff about you,” Myra is saying. Her voice is so hoarse that it’s barely above a whisper. “Is fucking my husband worth the pain of Maggie and Wentworth not loving you?”

(how the fuck does she—?)

And he’s so good at Portrayal Mode, that’s he’s great at pretending to to be almost anything—so he pretends to be level-headed. He even laughs. “You don’t know me, lady.”

Myra smiles wider. “But I do, though. How was your phone call with McKenzie, Inky Blinky?”

That’s what does it. Something about her bringing up his sister leaves him equal parts shivering and equal parts wanting to haul off and slap the shit out of her. But before he can even respond to her question—the door to D&D opens quickly. Then, it closes just as quickly.

People have always said that that Eddie looks like a lover—and that’s only a half-truth. Because really, in fight-or-flight situations, Eddie’s inclination has always been to _fight_. 

Something made him unfreeze, too.

He’s outside in a flurry, standing confident and angry and with a garden trowel in his hand. “Myra! The _fuck_ are you doing here?”

And Richie supposes that seeing him so angry is what makes her considerably deflate a little. “Eddie... I just... I just wanted to talk, Eddie bear—”

“No! _Fuck that! _I blocked you because I don’t wanna talk. But what do you do? You fly all the way out here just to scare all my customers and to scare my employees! It’s fucking _bullshit!_”

Surprisingly, _shockingly_, she seems on the verge of tears. “B-But Eddie bear— ”

_“And stop fuckin’ calling me that! You know I hate that shit!”_

“I...” she tries to find the right words, stumbles over them, tears up a little more. “You divorced me. All for _him_?” She looks back and gestures to Richie in disgust (the latter whose just going ignore those implications). “The least you owe me is closure...”

Eddie’s eyes are dark and flat, and he stares at her for a really long time. Finally, he says: “I don’t owe you _shit_. Now get out of here because I stab this in your fuckin’ neck.”

* * *

Police sirens were probably not how anybody—at ATT and especially not D&D—expected to have to hear today. The dispatchers that Rudy called sent out authorities within a few minutes—and suddenly, Myra was handcuffed and getting escorted in the back of a car, screaming and crying.

Eddie figures that in since the girls are so shaken up, that he would just close the shop for a day and send them all home. After he did his usual routine of making sure they were all safely in their cars—even though now there was no perceivable threat—and after all the stragglers cleared out, he pulls Richie into D&D with him and closes and locks the door. 

It’s quiet for a while—mainly just because Richie doesn’t have even the slightest clue of what to say. Finally, even though he already knows the answer, he asks: “Babe, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” is his answer, even though his Eddie looks _far_ from okay. 

Richie has always known how to talk, and to talk fast—but sometimes the jokes come out wrong or at a bad time or he doesn’t know what to say... and he can admit that. So, without really thinking, he 

(just hug him)

wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him close to his chest—and Eddie finally breaks down and cries while Richie strokes his hair.

A couple of days go by, and everything goes back to normal—_almost_. There’s still this heavy feeling in the air. Even though he can see the girls’ cheery faces across the street, they still seem on guard, they still seem scared. Eddie has perked back up a little too... but not really—he seems so stressed, his smiles seem a little forced. 

So he decides to plan a little surprise. Maybe it’s selfish—maybe he wants Eddie to forget all about Myra so he can hug him and kiss him and show him that he deserves better. Maybe he wants him all to himself. And he  maybe definitely just wants Eddie to, overall, feel better. 

It’s a simple enough gesture: flowers. He doesn’t know much about them, which ones are what or which are hypoallergenic (and he’s sure Eddie would have a fit when he found that out)

[“or maybe he would teach me”]. 

And he can’t really go to D&D to obtain these flowers—because, well... that would ruin the surprise. 

But he knows one thing: daffodils. He knows that Eddie likes daffodils. He’s told him before, his shampoo smells like it, and... _shit, it’s the name of his fucking shop._ And Richie knows enough about daffodils to be able to identify them at first glance—so he goes into a little shop on Main Street and gets a dozen of them. 

And then he goes back downtown and walks over to D&D and—

That same fucking nervousness. 

_Why?_

(what if he hates it?)

But he sucks it up, goes into the shop, and is instantly greeted by one of the girls. It’s Shelbie, who Viper has been ranting and raving about him finding her attractive

(wait no, that’s Valencia).

She’s got her hair in a top-knot bun, her arms exposed and showing off her beautiful sleeves of tattooed flowers, and she’s grinning.

“Heyyy, Mr. T. Are those for Mr. K?”

He stammers. “Uh! Yeah! Is he here?” 

“He’s in the back,” Shelbie says, giggles a little. But then her face softens, and she adds the next part with the upmost love and sincerity. “That’s so sweet. I think he’ll really like them. We’ve all been having a hard time.”

Feeling even more jittery and nervous from Shelbie’s words—she giddily marches him to the back, past the breakroom, to a little room (that he never notice before, how about that?) titled _Eddie’s Office, _in flowers and sprawling cursive. She knocks on the door twice. “Mr. K?”

He can hear Eddie’s muffled response from the other side of the door. “Hey, Shels. What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” she chirps, a little too happy. “You have a visitor.”

And even through the muffles, Richie can hear the smirk in his voice. “Oh, cool. Send him in?”

“So, these are for you,” he says as soon as he gets in the door, and hands the flowers to Eddie before he can change his mind. The latter looks surprised—his doe eyes bright and innocent—but then they crinkle on the sides from a grin. 

“What did I do to deserve these?” He teases—and maybe he’s looking too into it, but the way that Eddie said that makes it seem like... he wants _certain things._

“Be cute,” Richie grins back—because he loves the little game they’ve been playing; loves the “chase”. Eddie purses his lips a little, leans forward a little more on his desk.

“That’s _it_?” he eggs on. 

“That’s it!” Richie echoes.

“So it’s not because I won your heart or something?”

(baby, you won my heart a _long time ago_)

“What, do you _want_ it to be?”

“Seems like you’re trying to imply that’s what _you_ want.”

Richie can’t help but to break out into a fit of giggles. “Eddie Spaghetti. My dear. My darling. I can go at this all day. You can’t top me.”

And then—the next thing that comes out of Eddie’s mouth is so surprising to him (but honestly, he practically walked right into it). He leans in closer and bites his lip—a look that 

(is sexy as hell)

Richie has never seen on him before, with dark eyes, and says:

“Well... how about _you_ top _me_, then?”

And he had a loose script for a situation like _this_ as well—but all he can do is stumble over himself and say, “H-huh?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Richie,” Eddie’a continuing. “I’ve felt so many damn emotions this year that it’s ridiculous. And with all this bullshit that’s been going on—I, uh,” He blushes, falters a little. “I’m a little pent up.”

“Like, _horny_?” Richie asks, whispering the last word like he’s a middle schooler at a sleepover.

Eddie chuckles, the dark look not leaving his eyes. “Yes, Rich, I’m horny. _Really_ horny. All the time. And just fooling around with you ain’t cutting it for me. I need you to come over here and finish what you started... if you want to.” 

_(hell fucking yes I want to!)_

And that’s _all_ he needs to hear, really. Maybe having sex in an office in the middle of the workday isn’t a good look—but he blinks and he’s at Eddie’s desk, they’ve switched places; he’s sitting in the chair with his legs spread and Eddie is straddling his lap. The little minx wasn’t lying when he said that he felt pent up—their kissing has never been so hot and desperate before. Eddie’s rocking their hips together, and they’re both already hard and it feels _really good,_ and he’s kissing all over Eddie’s neck and jaw and collarbone.

_“Rich,”_ Eddie breathes out, and it’s an airy mix between a whisper and a moan, and it’s so fucking

(hot) 

intoxicating. 

...But then, they both jump whenever there are _three_ sharp knocks on the door—no Shelbie this time—and Valencia’s voice calls out, light and easy:

“Mr. K? I need an override!”

And Eddie is jumping off his lap and tying his cardigan over his waist and saying, “Okay! Here I come!” at the same time. But before he leaves, he looks Richie dead in the eyes. “Come to my house later, or I’ll come to yours’, and we can finish.”

And then he opens the door and leaves. Holy shit, for the tumultuous whirlwind that it’s been on their side of town in the past few days, this is a _very_ welcomed breath of fresh air.

He has to stop shaking before he gets up and leaves the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viper: damn what I miss?


	9. at last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna try to double upload tomorrow and finish this out y’all!

January rolls by so quickly that Richie almost forgets everything that happened at D&D. He doesn’t even think about Myra—because why should he? His life is going great, ATT is bustling along great, his relationship with Eddie is great. Just everything is amazing. He hasn’t been this happy in years.

He doesn’t even give her a second thought.

That’s what he’s always wanted all these years, even though he tried to convince himself that he didn’t: a relationship with Eddie. Shit, he’s thought this before, hasn’t he? It’s always been him, hasn’t it? Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t fully give his love to somebody else, because all of his love has always been with Eddie. Even if he didn’t remember.

And that’s been to his detriment. 

He remembers all the heated, hateful arguments that him and Sandra would have, where she would throw her engagement ring back in his face and shout things like: You’re a bitch! _You’re weak! I hate you! I don’t want to marry you! Why would I want to marry a fucking fa—_

Ugh, he _hated_ that word. 

_[“you’re not fooling anybody!”]_

She knew. She always knew. 

Things he did weren’t fair to her—but to _his_ defense, physically and emotionally abusing your fiancé wasn’t fair to him. So he guesses they’re even.

But fuck Sandra! Fuck Jennifer and Eileen and Dakota—when he finally admitted to himself

_[(that) “you’re gay!”]—_

It’s all about Eddie now. Again—it’s always been about him, after all.

Valentine’s Day is coming up—and with being in contact with the rest of the Loser’s Club on a consistent basis now, he can finally remember everything with vividness and clarity. Eddie was his first crush, his first kiss, his first love. And his first heartbreak, when he found out that him and Mrs. K were moving to New York, seemingly to never see him again.

Their first kiss was on Valentine’s Day. After he had done that really embarrassing thing

(carving our initials into the bridge),

he had went to the store and bought a bouquet of roses with his allowance. Then, hoping he would say yes, he asked Eddie did he want to hang out. He remembers how badly he wanted, he _needed_ him, to say yes.

“Sure, I can hang out,” Eddie had said. “I’m not doing anything else, anyway.” And he remembers how sad he sounded, how dejected—as of Eddie really wanted to spend time with somebody on Valentine’s Day, but he had nobody to spend it with. And he remembers how psyched he was that it was going to be him.

He remembers that he biked to Eddie’s house, and picked him up, and said:_ “your chariot awaits, ma’am,”_ and let Eddie ride on the handlebars because he asked and asked. And that he took them to a frozen yogurt place. He remembers Eddie’s face and his blush when he told him that the roses were for him.

_“I saw you at the bridge the other day,” _Eddie said. He has taken one of the roses out of the bouquet, and tucked it behind his ear, and it looked so pretty sitting there. He was leaned on his arm, pressing up against the shop’s window, and _he_ looked so pretty sitting there.

_“Why would I be at the bridge?”_ He remembers saying—and he wishes he could go back in time and tell himself how fucking stupid that was._ “Without you guys? That’s fucking lame.”_

_“No, I _saw_ you,” _Eddie insisted—and that’s when he thought 

(I’m caught)

that maybe that he should quit while he was ahead. _“You were scratching something into the side of it. I’m not making it up.”_

And while he was floundering, panicking, going through his reserve of shit he could use as an excuse,

(I wasn’t there!) 

(the E doesn’t stand for “Eddie”)

(okay well even though it says R x E that doesn’t mean that it’s me and you what are you gay?)

(okay okay I like you just don’t tell our friends okay)

Eddie snickered. _“Hah, I fucking _caught_ you.”_

_“Huh?”_

_“I didn’t actually see you at the bridge,”_ Eddie admitted, and he blushed a little, maybe for being dishonest. _“Big Bill did. But everybody’s been hinting that you, y’know, _like-_like me and I didn’t believe them. But that, on top of this, I know. And you not saying anything proves that I’m right!” _

And he blushed—so hard—because he knew that was the end of it, so he may as well admit it, and he did go with the fourth option. _“Okay, Eddie, okay,” _he said, and threw his hands up in surrender._ “I like like you. A lot. Just don’t tell our friends.” _He slumped into his chair.

But Eddie pulled him back up a bit—leaned forward across the table, closed his eyes, and kissed him lightly across the lips 

_(oh my god oh my god oh my GOD)_

and said: _“I just wanted to hear you say it.”_

* * *

Valentine’s Day is kind of pretentious at ATT, because all the couples come in and want a bunch of lovey dovey tattoos. He’s had to tattoo so many hearts and arrows and scrawling font of people’s names that he almost doesn’t need to sketch out a drawing for it. D&D seems just as busy—with all the boyfriends going in to get flowers for their darlings, and shit like that. This must be Eddie and the girls’ favorite time of the working year. 

He sees so many streams of happy couples leaving the flower shop—most of them all with an assortment of roses 

(his face when I gave them to him he looked so surprised and beautiful)

of red, white, or a mix of both. 

The day is over before he knows it—and him, Viper, and Rudy are all exhausted. He wishes them both well and starts to make the short little walk back to his house. He sings a little, one of his favorite songs—and of course, he already knows who he’s singing it for.

_“At last_

_My love has come along_

_My lonely days are over_

_And life is like a song_

_At last the skies above are blue_

_My heart was wrapped up in clover...”_

But then he gets a text message.

**Eddie Mercury:** Baby it’s V Day

**Eddie Mercury:** Come to my house!!!

And—just like everything else that Eddie says or tells him to do—he really doesn’t have to tell him twice.

Eddie’s dressed down by the time he gets to his house—he’s got on a t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants. He doesn’t feel bad for showering and putting on a t-shirt and sweatpants, now. But he _does_ bring something special; something that he picked up before he even went to work today: a bouquet of roses. And when Eddie finishes hugging him and he pulls them from behind his back, Eddie looks so surprised and beautiful... and then he smiles.

“You’re so sweet,” he says sincerely. They love taking the piss out of each other—but he figures they have the unspoken agreement to put that on hold today. 

(For the most part. A little bit of teasing should be okay.)

“I try to be for you, baby,” he says—and when Eddie takes the flowers from him is when he can finally hug him.

And Eddie grins and looks at him out of the corner of his eye and says, “Nah, you’re just naturally sweet regardless.”

They pour themselves a couple of glasses of wine (even though you don’t have to drink to have fun), and snuggle up on Eddie’s couch. It’s always nice to hug him from behind, bury his face into his neck, and take in the flowery scent of his hair. He doesn’t even realize that he’s nuzzling until he hears Eddie’s cute giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he says, low and playful.

Eddie is giggling his way through the sentence, even squirming a little. “You’re tickling my neck.” 

Without thinking how absolutely dorky it sounds—he says, on impact: “I can tickle more than just your neck, baby”—which, he really thought that Eddie wouldn’t be into... but he gets a smirk, and a laugh. And concerning the other day at D&D—they finish what they started.

Like it’s been all day, he doesn’t even realize that he was crying until he wakes up and touches his face. Thin streams of tears dripped all the way down, to his neck, in his sleep—which is fine, because he won’t be caught crying by Eddie. The latter is still sleep, which he’s forever grateful for. He has enough time to go to the bathroom and clean himself up, maybe run some water on his face.

Why the fuck is he crying, anyway? He used to cry all the time at night—after getting off the phone with his parents, or laying up in bed all by himself, after Sandra stormed off after an argument. But his life is going great. He’s so happy. What is there even to cry over?

That’s why. He’s happy. He hasn’t been this happy  in <strike>years</strike> his entire life—that’s what they’re for. They’re _happy_ tears. Holy shit. It’s crazy to be so sad, to suffer so much, to feel like there’s nobody in your corner or to fucking help you, to feel like a trapped bird in a cage. Or an un-bloomed flower. Then, to go from all the negative emotions—the pain, the closet, the heartbreak—and to turn it into something positive... he feels like a flower blooming in the sun.

[like, I dunno... a]

_(daffodil)_

[yes, a daffodil.]

He starts singing that song again. He knows exactly why he’s been feeling so over the moon lately. Obviously, it’s because of Eddie. But no, really—he has, and always has been, the missing piece to his life 

(even if I didn’t remember).

And he doesn’t know a song any sweeter to describe how enraptured he is by his Eddie; how much fun they have together, how much he makes him happy—

and he’s standing at the bathroom door.

(shit.)

“Heya, Spaghetti,” he says cheerfully enough, trying to play it cool. But Eddie is already grinning, leaned up against the door (so reminiscent of that fateful Valentines Day), hair slightly disheveled. But by God, does he still look beautiful.

“Hey, Rich,” he echoes back. He has his phone in his hand, with a glint in his eye that can only mean one thing: he’s up to no good. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I would play some music.” And before he can respond, Eddie’s already playing a song from his phone—of course, ironically, it’s Etta James. 

But no so ironically. “You kept on singing it; you ain’t slick,” Eddie is saying. His grin turns into a smile. “So dance with me.”

“Aw, but I can’t dance,” he says—but he’s grinning too; he _knows_ he’s full of shit. He’s already closed the gap between them, already intertwined their fingers together—and he spins Eddie around and relishes in his laughs until the song is over. And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, or getting too caught up in things while they’re still new, or just the old feelings he’s had bottled up for years—but he thinks a very clear thought: that

(I’m going to really marry him)

when he buys another ring, he actually won’t be playing around when he asks Eddie next time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie at 14, probably: damn Eddie my first kiss was supposed to be for your mom


	10. reminiscing flower boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richie: hey yo Rudy likes you btw  
Viper: W H A T

His own birthday rolls around—after Valentine’s Day, right after the Ides of March. A tradition that he, Viper, and Rudy do is this: whenever it’s one of their birthdays, the other two will man the fort so the birthday boy doesn’t have to work. So he doesn’t _have_ to be in the shop today, but he _wants_ to be. He can’t stay away.

How have his last birthdays gone throughout the years? Terribly, he guesses. One year, him and Sandra got badly into it on his birthday—she scratched him with her acrylic nails so badly, that he spent the day in the ER getting stitches. 

And oh yeah, his parents never fucking call.

Well, they haven’t _all_ been bad. Dakota was a good boyfriend. Well, he tried to be. He remembers closing the shop down, going back home—and Kody standing in the living room with a little gift bag, and a cupcake with a candle in it, grinning from ear to ear. He remembers that he loved that. 

But the best birthdays he ever had was when he was younger. That’s when it seems like all the good times in his life were. He thinks that one of the reasons Kody and his one-candle-cupcake made him so happy, is that it subconsciously reminded him of the Loser’s Club. They were young and broke and always did things like that for each other. He remembers one December, he did that for Stan. And Mike in October. And Bev in January.

And Eddie, in November.

He remembers that he gave Eddie a cupcake with pink and white frosting because he wanted it to be pretty and he found a candle with little hearts on it because 

(oh my god!)

_(we were dating!)_

Eddie was his boyfriend. 

They dated for a while, didn’t they? For the entire year before Eddie had to move. And it was their little secret. God, he remembers all of that; it was so fucking nice... the private hangouts, intertwining their fingers together under tables, the inside jokes, the stolen glances. How did he forget about his friends so long, and how the fuck did he forget that Eddie was his _boyfriend_?

(it was because I moved away from Derry)

Notes! They wrote each other notes before Eddie left. And he remembers that he would read it every single night, and cry—even a couple of years after him and his family moved to California. Even a couple of times after his family moved back home, and he decided to stay. He was in college then. He knew Viper and Rudy then. He remembers. He met them that year. 

Another memory pops into his head, bright and explosive. Viper with the note in his hands, grinning. Cooing,_ “Who’s Eddie, Rich? Who’s Eddie?” _over and over again, while he chased him around their dorm. And he remembers what he said to him

_[“some old boyfriend, just give me the damn note!”]_

and the fact that even though memories of who wrote the note was foggy, he still felt tears welling in his eyes

_[“fucking stop, John! you’re gonna rip it!”]_

because he felt so flighty and panicky. 

And he remembers that Rudy finally snatched the note from Viper’s hands when he wasn’t paying attention

_[“you are so goddamn _childish_! here, Rich”]_

and handed it back to him—and when he got it back, he put it in a box underneath his bed, went on with partying and college, and forgot about it. 

But he didn’t it away. He knows for a _fact_ he didn’t throw it away. 

He jumps out of bed, rummages through his closet and finds that fateful box of knickknacks affectionately labeled _College Shit_—puts it on his bed, sifts through the box. His breath catches in his throat. 

He remembers Eddie wrote the note on pink parchment paper. A pink envelope sticks out of the box like a sore thumb, almost teasingly. It’s the fucking note.

He’s so happy. 

He’s nervous,

(how does his handwriting look?)

(I don’t even remember what it says)

but he opens it.

And like the best memory, he’s greeted with Eddie’s sprawling, cursive writing. 

It reads:

_Richie Rich,_

_Spending time with you is the best time I’ve ever spent in my life. You make me so happy. I’m really going to miss you :( I never got to tell you this, but I love you. And I’ll always love you. And I’ll never forget you. Please never forget about me. _

_Don’t kill too many people with your shitty jokes. _

_And take care of yourself. Really. _

_all my love,_

_Eddie Spaghetti_

And by his name, he drew these pretty white and yellow flowers. 

He _loves_ it.

He remembers seeing those flowers years later in a flower shop, asking what the flowers were, and the shop owner telling him that they were daffodils. And he thought of Eddie. Only for a fleeting moment, but he thought of him. Holy shit... even through all these years, he kept Eddie’s promise and never forgot about him. 

He has to go to the shop.

Usually, walking there would be in the cards for him; it usually only takes about ten minutes to get there—but he’s so excited, that he hops in his car. And it takes him about 3 minutes to drive there. He parks, locks his door, goes through the glimmering doors of his beautiful parlor—and Viper and Rudy both look up. Twin expressions of surprise are painted on their faces.

“Rich... why are you here today?” Rudy asks, almost on the brink of concern. 

But Viper breaks into a grin. He looks up from his client and says: “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” 

“Nah, he couldn’t,” Rudy replies, suspiciously. Then, he looks back at Richie and adds: “If you’re here to do paperwork or something, I’m not letting you do it. It’s your fucking _birthday_.”

“Nope, no paperwork!” he says, over the moon with delight. He puts his hands behind his head. “I’m here for some more ink.”

“Some _more ink_?” Viper echoes. “Where you got room to put it, huh? Your fucking foot?”

He takes one arm from behind his head and shows Viper the sliver of bare skin that is his wrist. “Right here.”

“A tight squeeze, but we’ll manage,” Viper says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you wanting, then?”

He says it without hesitation. “Daffodils. Yellow and white daffodils.”

Viper cuts his eyes over cross the street—and he already knows where his eyes are. “Really? _No!_ You’re sprung. I refuse.”

Rudy doesn’t even look up from his client this time. “Let the man get whatever tattoo he wants for his damn birthday, John.”

“I refuse!” Viper repeats, grinning—and Rudy sighs.

“Fine, I’ll just do it. I’ve got you right after I finish her up, Rich.”

“Thanks, Rudy!”

“You’re welcome,” Rudy says—and like just Stan, when Rudy gives a full-blown smile, it lights up his entire face.

It doesn’t take long for Rudy to finish up the tattoo for his client—and he has to admit, he thinks it’s really pretty: it’s a starry, rural night on her left side. After Rudy sanitizes everything, he sits him in the seat, and they work out a sketch. 

“How are you wanting them?” Rudy asks.

He’s able to slip his hand into his shirt and pull out the note with a big grin on his face. “Really similar to these.”

And in Rudy’s eyes flashes a little glimmer of recognition. “Holy shit—that’s the note that Viper took from you when we went to Berkeley.”

“Yeahhhh,” Richie says, and beams. “Surprised I kept it for this long?”

“I’m more surprised I didn’t realize who you kept it for.” 

And—ignoring Rudy’s keen eye—he sits in the chair, not flinching from the needles with the practiced steeliness of a tattoo artist, he gets his daffodils. Tattoos are even kind of relaxing for him, now—he finds himself drifting off a bit in the half hour it takes for the tattoo to be completed. 

After they’re done, he jumps out the seat so Rudy can sanitize everything for the next client—but he smiles again and asks, “Do you like ‘em?”

“I _love_ ‘em!” he admits. And he can see Viper out of the corner of his eye, sticking out his tongue at him. He looks over to him—and when he does, Viper mouths the word _“spruuuung”_ with a smirk. 

But that’s okay. He’ll sit there and take all the teasing that anybody wants to throw at him. He’ll take stolen notes and stolen glances if it means he can feel like this forever.

Daffodils have always been Eddie’s thing. He used to draw them, he made flower crowns with Mike out of them, he named his business after them. When he went to the bridge and carved their initials, white and yellow daffodils winked up from the Barrens at him, and it was almost like a sign. On his note, Eddie drew them, right by a nickname that he thought Eddie hated, up until that very moment... but he didn’t mind it, because it reminded Eddie of him. So now, as a visual reminder, he can never forget about Eddie now—even if they get split again, even if they don’t last forever. He’ll _always_ remember.

He never wants to forget about him again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand that’s all folks!


End file.
